COLUMBIA  UBRARIESOFFSITE 

^VERY  FINE  ARTS  RESTR ICT  _D 


AR01 405845 


Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


NEW  YORK  NAKED. 


BY 


GEORGE    G.    FOSTER, 

AUTHOR    ©T 
"  KKW   YORK    BY    GAS   LIGHT,"    {C  FIFTEEN    MINVTES    AROSND    NEW    YORK,"  ETC.  ETC. 


"  Truth  now  hovers  o*er  my  Geek, 


And  what  was  occe  roniantac,  grtwe  bttrloeofae." 


-*►• 


NEW  YORK: 

DE    WITT    &    DAVENPORT,    PUBLISHERS, 

1-60    &    162   NASSAU    STRBBTT. 


( 


T> 


p&  \& 


ft 


NEW  YORK  NAKED. 


-«*— 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 

A.  SPECIMEN    OF    LITEBAEY    AUTOBIOGRAPHY,    ANB   A   GLIMPSE    OF    JOOTSHJAMSM 

IN   NEW    YOBK. 

I  write  this  book  to  do  justice  to  myself,  and  perhaps  upon  several  otherg. 
"Within  the  last  eleven  years,  my  pen  has  been  pretty  constantly  occupied  m 
recording  the  results  of  my  observations  and  investigations  concerning  life  im 
its  various  aspects  in  the  metropolis  of  the  New  World.  Diverted  by 
necessity  in  my  earliest  youth  from  following  the  natural  bent  and  tendency 
•f  my  character,  which  was  an  exclusive  devotion  to  imaginative  literature, 
and  forced  to  take'up,  strengthen  and  develop  the  practical  portion  of  my 
nature,  the  intuitive  powers  of  observation  belonging  to  the  imagination 
have  gradually  been  diverted,  to  be  employed  by  the  working  machinery  of 
my  mentaj  organization.  This,  rather  than  the  original  instinot  of  my  mind, 
has  imparted  a  certain  speciality  to  my  style  and  tone  of  thought  and  com- 
position, which,  altogether  accidental  as  it  is,  I  have  found  to  be  more 
available  for  the  every-day  purposes  of  acquiring  a  livelihood,  by  the  exercise 
of  my  profession,  than  probably  would  have  happened  had  I  been  left  at 
liberty  to  pursue  my  own  original  inclinations.  This,  or  something  like  it, 
so  far  as  my  observations  have  gone,  is  the  common  and  almost  universal 
chance  of  literary  men  and  women.  Not  one  in  a  hundred,  either  writer  or 
artist,  becomes  distinguished  and  successful  exactly  in  that  particular  line  of 
mental  creation,  towards  which  the  original  constitution  of  his  mind  and 
genius  tended,  and  to  which  his  earliest  aspirations  were  directed.  Say 
what  we  will  of  the  moulding  and  fusing  power  of  original  genius,  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that,  after  all,  chance,  accident,  and  cireumstanoe,  have 
more  to  do  with  the  absolute  destinies  of  every  man  and  woman  in  existence, 
than  any  natural  or  inherent  predilection  or  capacity. 


12  KEW     YORK     NAKED. 

Thus  I,  at  the  summit  of  fall  middle  age,  standing  now  at  my  thirty  -ninth, 
birth-day,  on  the  highest  peak  of  that  everlasting  mountain  whioh  divides 
the  morning  from  the  evening  of  life,  odo  side  of  which  lies  in  fresh  and 
dewy  shadow,  sheltered  from  the  arid  noonday  heats,  and  ever  green  and 
fresh  in  the  exuberance  of  the  glancing  streams  that  flow  adown  its  flowery 
sides — the  other  basking  bfoad  and  faint  and  motionless  beneath  the  fierce 
beams  of  the  descending  sun,  its  herbage  withered,  its  foliage  discolored  by 
the  prophetic  instincts  of  a  coming  dissolution — I  look  in  vain  over  the 
weary  journey  I  have  passed,  to  trace  the  silver  thread  of  that)  path,  winding 
amid  the  flowing  wildernesses,  which  in  youth  I  fondly  set  myself  to  tread. 
One  by  one,  as  that  pathway  led  from  the  roof-tree  of  my  father's  home,  do 
the  vestiges  that  marked  its  outline  disappear,  until  all  are  lost ;  and  my 
way,  trackless,  and  uncertain,  merges  in  the  undistinguishable  vistas  of  the 
unknown  forest.  And  so,  not  without  having  achieved  a  certain  portion  of 
that  success  which,  in  the  abstract,  I  promised  myself;  and,  with  no  reason 
to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  general  results  to  which  my  ambition  and  my 
labors  have  thus  far  brought  me;  I  find  myself,  intellectually  speaking, 
metamorphosed.  I  am  not  what  I  was,  what  I  would  be ;  but  I  am,  in  fact, 
another  being,  with  another  individuality,  another  horizon,  another  set  of 
ideas,  of  hopes,  of  valuations,  and  am  no  more  like  the  fantastic  thing  I 
promised  myself  in  the  exuberance  of  my  early  hope  to  be,  than  is  the  great 
world  of  the  actual  in  which  I  now  move,  like  that  world  as  I  pictured  it,  . 
ere  my  adventurous  feet  had  scaled  the  blue  and  airy  boundaries  that  circle 
in  the  green  amphitheatre  of  my  native  valley. 

Well !  I  have  not  distressed  myself  too  much  about  this.  It  is  true,  I  have 
been  conscious  of  this  incessant  change  going  on  in  my  nature,  and,  for  a 
time  struggled  heroically  against  it.  Many  and  bitter  were  the  rebuffs,  the 
humiliations,  and  the  disappointments,  I  encountered  before  I  would  con- 
sent to  yield  the  bright  and  glowing  visions  of  my  youth,  and  gathering  my 
girdle  about  me,  set  myself  manfully  to  work  at  whatever  my  hand  found 
to  do.  But  now  some  years  since,  that  great,  that  one,  that  all-important 
lesson  of  life  has  been  learned.  I  no  more  strive  to  shape  out  an  individual 
and  symmetrical  destiny  for  myself.  I  have  learned  to  look  upon  myself  at 
but  one  atom  in  the  vast  amount  of  mental  energy,  which  is  the  atmosphere 
and  the  sustaining  medium  of  magnetic  attraction,  holding  all  things  together 
— the  living  electricity  of  the  moral  world.  And  so  it  has  happened,  that 
the  dreamy  poet  of  sixteen,  whose  humblest  visions  were  millions  of  mile* 
above  the  very  loftiest  things  in  this  hum-drum,  every-day  world,  has  come 
to  be  the  patient  worker  at  the  laboring  oar  of  every-day  journalism.  The 
philosophic  explorer  of  the  lowest  phenomena  of  life  and  human  nature,  in 
those  classes  and  phases  which  in  the  old  time  had  for  him  no  existence; 
patiently  gathering  up  the  fragments,  the  refuse,  of  every-day  lifo,  he  ha* 
sought,  by  the  poetical  instinct  which  is  the  motive  power  of  his  existence, 
to  invest  them  with  the  brilliant  colors  of  his  own  imagination,  and  to  era- 
balm  them  in  the  amber  of  his  ideal  affection.     Thus  embellished,  these 


/ 


LITERARY    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  18 

"worthless  straws  have  attracted  more  or  less  the  attention  cf  passers-by; 
and  without  originally  working  for  any  specific  object,  except  to  gratify  the 
irresistible  necessity  for  work  which  existed  in  my  nature,  I  havo  even  made 
gome  contributions  to  the  store  of  knowledge  among  practical  minds,  relat- 
ing to  the  actual  condition  of  the  various  classes  of  mankind,  which  has  not 
been  wholly  without  value.  Especially  as  I  now  see  my  earliest  labors  in 
this  department,  reproduced  in  thin  dilutions,  and  made  the  topic  of  much 
self-glorification  by  our  "leading  journals"  of  the  day.  For  this  I  claim  no 
merit.  Like  my  own  destiny,  whatever  value  may  attach  to  my  labors,  I 
candidly  confess,  must  be  regarded  as  entirely  accidental.  Yet  gradually,  as 
these  labors  expanded  and  developed  themselves  before  me,  I  have  classified 
and  arranged  them  in  some  sort  of  form ;  so  that  for  some  time  past,  it  has 
appeared  to  me  to  be  a  great  and  laudable  life-purpose  to  go  again  carefully 
over  the  ground  Ihave  heretofore  so  hastily  trodden,  to  gather  and  arrange 
the  results  of  my  observations  into  scientific  order,  and  reproduce  them  in  a 
permanent  shape,  with  such  additional  facts,  experiences,  and  suggestions, 
as  my  more  matured  judgment  and  moral  perceptions  should  enable  me  to 
contribute.  This  work  I  have  purposely  delayed  to  the  culmination  of  the 
middle  period  of  life.  Henceforth,  whatever  may  be  the  improvements  I 
may  achieve  in  my  power  of  correctly  observing,  and  justly  estimating  the 
value  and  consequences  of  circumstances  and  events,  I  am  fully  conscious 
that  my  power  of  literary  creation  must  begin  to  wane ;  and  I  believe,  that 
with  a  few  fortunate  exceptions,  it  is  the  history  of  all  literary  creators,  that 
the  most  precious  portion  of  their  powers  and  gifts  have  been  expended  as 
the  common  stone  and  mortar  of  the  underground  foundations  upon  which 
the  future  structure  of  their  reputation  was  to  be  erected.  This  will  not  be 
so  in  the  future;  but  up  to  the  present  moment,  I  am  fully  of  opinion  that 
the  best  and  most  valuable  portions  of  the  lives  of  eminent  men  in  every  de- 
partment of  human  knowledge,  have  been  poured  out  upon  the  barren  quick- 
sands of  obscurity,  or  wasted  in  the  unproductive  and  disheartening  struggles 
of  youth. 

Divested,  therefore,  of  every  idea  but  a  most  practical  resolution  to  leave 
behind  me  a  not  unworthy  record  of  my  humble  passage  through  this  world, 
I  have  contemplated,  and  am  about  to  execute  the  present  work.  Nor  do  I 
fear  the  censure  of  the  world  for  this  preliminary  egotism,  in  which  I  have 
lifted  the  curtain  from  my  own  heart,  and  laid  bare  the  chances  and  changes 
which  time  has  wrought  upon  my  nature.  Some  such  explanation  for  the 
total  estrangement  that  I  now  endure  from  all  that  has  seemed  to  make  life 
tolerable,  or  for  me  desirable,  was  necessary  to  myself.  The  vanity  of  the 
poet,  the  enthusiast,  the  ideal  dreamer,  would  not  suffer  that  I  should  thus 
irrevocably  pass  into  another  and  so  much  lower  form  of  literary  existence, 
without  this  one  apology  and  protest  in  behalf  of  those  lofty  aspirations 
which  overleaped  the  stars,  and  described  a  career  among  the  constellations. 
And  now  I  believe  I  am  ready  to  go  on  with  the  real  and  practical  purpose 
of  this  book. 


14  NEW    TOKK     NAKED. 

It  may  be  possible,  that  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  pages,  the  reader  will 
now  and  then  detect  forms  of  thought,  or  statements  of  facts,  which  he  has 
encountered  before  from  my  pen.  Considering  the  great  amount  I  have 
written  at  various  times,  and  in  various  shapes,  but  always  fragmentarily, 
and  to  subserve  the  mere  exigencies  of  the  moment,  upon  life  in  New  York, 
such  reminiscences  are,  probably,  unavoidable.  However,  I  am  confident 
that  no  positive  repetitions  will  be  found,  as  I  have  not  referred,  for  many 
months,  to  a  page  or  line  that  I  have  ever  written  before;  and,  for  the 
purpose  of  the  composition  of  this  work,  I  have  renewed  from  the  beginning 
my  personal  acquaintance  with  the  facts  and  circumstances  of  the  various 
classes  of  life  in  JSTew  York,  and  have  written  exclusively  from  my  more 
recent  observations. 

The  first  idea  of  the  peculiar  sort  of  sketches  of  eity  life  by  which,  almost 
exclusively,  the  public  have  any  knowledge  whatever  of  me,,  was  purely  an 
accidental  suggestion,  arising  from  a  bread-and-butter  necessity.  Having 
been  for  some  months  out  of  employment,  and  in  great  embarrassments,  from 
illness  and  all  sorts  of  mishaps,  I  some  years  ago  undertook  the  task  of  local 
reporter,  or  gatherer  of  petty  items  of  intelligence,  about  the  courts  and  the 
city  generally,  for  one  of  the  morning  journals — then  young  and  of  small 
circulation — at  a  rate  of  compensation  considerably  less  than  that  received 
by  the  compositors  who  set  up  the  type  for  the  paper.  It  was  my  duty  to 
make  daily  pilgrimages  to  that  shrine  of  petty  larceny,  drunkenness,  vaga- 
bondism, and  vagrancy— the  Tombs  ;  to  watch  the  proceedings  in  the  petty 
sessions ;  to  chronicle  the  arraignment  of  any  remarkable  John  Smith  for 
the  unlawful  appropriation  of  Chatham  street  boots,  tainted  sausages,  and 
musty  potatoes ;  to  attend  the  preliminary  examinations  of  suspected 
burglars,  and  record  the  Dogberrian  decisions  which  conveyed  starving, 
bloated,  and  drunken  raggedness  from  the  curse  of  democratic  liberty  to  the 
comparative  comfort  and  security  of  a  ward  in  the  Hospital,  or  a  home  on 
Blackwell's  Island.  Another  portion  of  my  duties  was  to  lay  in  wait  for  the 
thunderous  clangor  of  the  great  City  Hall  bell ;  to  count  its  beatings,  and, 
emulous  of  the  red-flannel  demons  that  dragged  their  rattling  cars  over  the 
stony  street,  to  rush  off  in  the  direction  of  every  fire  that  startled  the  isle 
from  its  propriety.  Often  and  often,  when  I  had  fondly  deemed  the  labors 
of  the  day  and  night— aye,  and  morning  too— to  be  over,  and  had  subsided 
down  those  five  flights  of  darkened  stairs,  and  crawled  wearily  and  painfully 
homeward,  have  my  languid  steps  been  arrested  within  sight  of  the  bedroom 
beacon  that  rose  upon  my  gaze,  by  the  clangor  of  that  dreadful  bell ;  and, 
sending  a  last  gleam  of  muscularity  into  the  calves  of  my  legs,  have  I  started 
off  over  many  a  weary  furlong,  wading  for  hours  in  mud  and  water,  gliding 
among  blackened  timbers  and  under  crashing  walls,  hunting  up  dismayed 
presidents  of  trembling  insurance  offices,  and  arousing  comfortable  old 
fogy  ism  from  its  midnight  slumbers,  to  ascertain  the  exact  amount  of  salt 
pork  and  mackerel  sacrificed  on  some  particular  occasion  to  the  remorseless 
appetite  of  the  "  devouring  element."    Another  part  of  my  duties  was  to 


• 


LITERARY   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  15 

watch  the  gallant  processions  of  our  country's  defenders — videlicet,  the 
b-hoys — preceded  by  Dodworth's  "  inimitable  band,"  and  followed  by  the 
shiniest  and  srailingest  of  Afric's  stalwart  sons,  proudly  bearing  that 
inevitable  target,  and  not  only  looking,  but  acting  defiance  to  John  Bull, 
and  all  the  rest  of  creation,  at  every  step.  Fourth  of  July  was  to  me  a 
godsend ;  and  the  evacuation  days,  Oroton  anniversaries,  and  twenty- 
second  of  February,  and  even  masonic  funerals  and  odd-fellow  processions, 
which  embellished  the  week,  were  the  prolific  sources  whence  I  gleaned  my 
bread.  Step  by  step,  kept  I  pace  with  every  ragged  regiment  of  the  now 
extinct  fantastical  brigade — my  column  advancing  line  by  line  with  its 
column — and  the  grand  parade  of  the  "  City  Item  "  department  and  the  fire 
department  both  astonished  the  public  on  the  same  occasion.  How  often 
have  I  marched  proudly  up  Broadway,  pencil  and  note-book  in  hand, 
watching  the  gallant  New  York  infantry  as  it  aired  and  gleamed  its  newly- 
polished  boots  along  the  pave ;  while  the  gallant  Morris,  the  Mars  and 
Apollo  combined  of  this  lucky  Yankeedoodledom,  with  beaver  gracefully 
sdspended  above  his  garlanded  brow,  bending  low  to  the  resistless  ranks  of 
beauty  that  darted  the  shaft  "  that  all  the  shafts  of  war  outflies,"  from 
thousands  of  half-closed,  yet  coquettishly  opened,  chamber- windows  ! 

And  then,  too,  the  receptions  of  great  men  by  our  most  hospitable  city 
papas ;  the  philandering  of  the  honorable  John  Smith,  ex-high  constable 
of  Frogtown,  to  the  various  public  edifices  and  public  institutions  of  our  great 
and  glorious  island,  from  the  tea-room  to  the  Bloomingdale  Asylum,  and 
from  the  Penitentiary  to  the  High  Bridge  and  McOoomb's  dam ;  the  glori- 
ous cherry-pickings  on  Randall's  Island,  where  the  alderman  from  the 
Twentieth  Ward  makes  his  annual  speech  to  the  little  ragged  nesses  that  there 
vegetate  at  the  expense  of  the  city ;  the  Demosthenian  debates  and  discus- 
sions within  the  sacred  walls  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen ;  the  enlightening 
disputes  as  to  whether  Forty-eleventh  street  between  Avenue  A  and  Avenue 
B  should  be  graded  or  lighted  by  gas ;  the  appropriations  to  innumerabie 
young  physicians  for  all  sorts  of  legs  set  and  arms  put  in,  in  consequence  of 
accidents  by  omnibuses  that  never  existed  and  in  cellars  that  never  were 
dug;  the  great  question  whether  "them  benches"  should  be  erected 
around  the  Park  fountain,  and  whether  the  fountain  itself  should  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  wash-bowl  or  a  paling ;  the  question  of  lighting  the  Park  with 
gas,  which  employed  so  many  anxious  days  and  nights  between  the  public 
spirited  publisher  and  myself;  the  extirpation  of  the  awning  posts  from 
Broadway,  and  the  banishment  of  the  pjgs  from  the  streets ;  the  discussion 
of  the  comparative  merits  of  Buss  and  cobble-stone  ;  the  building  of  bridges  to 
Brooklyn,  and  under-ground,  over-ground,  and  second-story  railroads  from 
the  Battery  to  "Union  Square  ;  the  removal  of  the  Post  Office  to  the  publisher's 
back  kitchen,  and  the  suppression  of  the  hog-pen  adjoining  the  editor's 
country-seat  at  Turtle  Bay ;  these  were  the  prolific  soils,  abounding  in  com- 
posts and  guano  of  the  most  precious  description  which  produced'  those 
brilliant  and  evanescent  flowers,  whose  aroma,  drawn  from  the  sources  of 


16  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

inspiration  in  ray  inmost  soul,  conferred  a  flavor  and  a  quality  upon   the 
tasteless  insipidity  of  a  daily  journal. 

In  these  less  serious  occupations,  my  mind  gradually  acquired  a  bias  in 
the  direction  where  they  were  found ;  and  the  continual  exercise  of  my  fac- 
ulties in  this  field  of  composition,  developed  that  theory  of  the  philosophy 
of  moral  and  social  life,  and  of  the  ultimate  destiny  of  the  human  animal  in 
its  relations  upon  this  earth,  which  lies  latent  in  every  imaginative  soul,  and 
is  in  fact  the  foundation  of  its  religous,  moral,  social,  and  political  existence. 
At  last  this  new  and  improved  phase  of  literary  life  led  to  the  production 
of  a  series  of  sketches  somewhat  more  pretentious  and  finished  than  the 
daily  paragraphs  with  which  I  had  been  previously   employed.      These 
sketches,  under  the  title  of  "  New  York  in  Slices,"  were  originally  written 
for  publication  in  the  journal  for  which  I  labored,  whence  they  were  copied 
into  more  than  two  hundred  leading  papers  in  the  United  States,  either  in 
whole  or  in  part,  and  also  in  several  of  the  more  important  journals  of 
Europe.     The  idea,  too,  at  once  became  popular,  and  was  adopted  and  imi- 
tated in  all  directions.     In  a  few  weeks  after  the  commencement  of  "  New 
York  in  Slices,"  we  had  "  Hudson  in  Patches,"  "  Wisconsin  in  Chunks," 
and  "  Mississippi  in  Gobs  " — and  all  sorts  of  states,  cities  and  provinces,  in 
all  sorts  of  aliquot  quantities.     After  the  "Slices"  were  concluded,  they 
were  republished  in  the  form  of  a  two  shilling  pamphlet,  and  some  thirty  or 
forty  thousand  copies  sold  within  a  year,  the  regular  sale  of  the  book  still 
continuing  at  the  rate  of  about  a  thousand  a  month.     Subsequently,  as  a 
kind  of  sequel  to  the  "  Slices,"  I  contracted  with  the  publishers  of  the  pre- 
sent volume  to  write  "  New  York  by  Gas-light,"  the  sale  of  which  has  even 
exceeded  the  other,  and  appears  in  no  likelihood  of  meeting  a  diminution. 
On  the  first  appearance  of  this  work,  its  truly  painted  pictures  of  New  York 
life,  and  its  startling  developments  of  the  vice  and  licentiousness  of  the 
higher  classes  of  society,  created  a  sensation  new  to  our  literature,  and 
which  met  rom  some  quarters  the  same  species  of  opposition  encountered  at 
first  by  the  Mysteries  of  Paris,  and  some  other  similar  works.     This,  how- 
ever, has  long  since  died  away;  and  many  of  the  leading  philanthropists 
of  the  day,  if  they  would  confess  the  truth,  would  own  that  their  attention 
was  first  attracted  to  the  horrible  evils  they  are  now  engaged  in  meliorating, 
by  the  bold  and  naked  truthfulness  of  "  New  York  by  Gas-light." 

The  design,  scope,  and  purpose,  of  the  present  work  are  of  a  much  more 
comprehensive  and  complete  character,  than  has  formed  the  basis  of  any 
of  my  previous  compositions ;  while  I  trust  that  its  execution  will  at  least 
not  be  inferior  to  the  best  of  those.  If  it  shall  be  found  to  lack  somewhat 
of  the  exuberance  and  fervor  that  disappears  from  the  human  brain-flower 
as  the  edges  of  its  leaves  turn  grey,  and  begin  to  close  crisply  upon  the 
faltering  stamen  within,  I  trust  this  will  be  more  than  compensated  by  the 
additional  importance,  gravity,  and  philosophical  accuracy  of  the  statements, 
descriptions,  and  deductions  in  the  following  pages. 
The  last  few  years  have  witnessed  a  remarkable  revolution  in  the  tone  of 


LITERARY    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  It 

public  sentiment,  respecting  the  best  means  of  laboring  for  the  improvement 
and  advancement  of  the  human  race,  and  the  gradual  extinction  of  those 
evils  which  are  now  seen,  and  admitted  by  all  hopeful  souls  to  be  inconsistent 
with  the  goodness  of  the  Creator,  and  uncongenial  to  man's  higher  and  better 
tendencies.  Heretofore  a  thick  pail  has  been  spread  over  the  crumbling* 
skeletons  and  rotting  ulcers  of  civilization,  which,  by  the  common  consent 
of  philosophers,  moralists,  and  political  economists,  had  never  been  raised  to 
permit  anything  but  the  briefest  glance  at  the  horrors  that  lay  beneath. 
But  more  recently,  the  juster  and  braver  theory  has  obtained  that  truth  and 
light  are  always  good,  and  that  in  order  to  cure  the  terrible  maladies  that 
afflict  humanity,  first  of  all  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be  clearly 
examined  and  deeply  probed.  So  help  me  Heaven,-  as  I  am  a  living  soul, 
and  have  an  immortal  destiny  to  expect,  this  has  been  the  one  only  object 
of  all  the  developments  of  misery,  destitution,  filth,  and  crime,  in  the  dark 
labyrinths  of  this  metropolis,  that  ever  I  have  made. 

Following  close  upon  the  somewhat  thorough,  but  still  fragmentary  and 
imperfect  revelations  contained  in  the  u  New  York  in  Slices,"  and  "  New 
York  by  Gas-light,"  came  as  an  express  rebuke  to  the  ungrateful  baseness 
that  had  sought  to  stigmatize  me  for  their  production,  the  far  broader, 
deeper  and  more  repulsive  disclosures  of  the  Gehenna  life  of  London,  from 
the  untiring,  fearless,  unshrinking  pen  of  Mayhew,  whose  reports,  stamped 
with  the  authority  and  force  of  official  documents,  originally  uttered  through 
the  London  Chronicle,  have  startled  Europe  and  amazed  mankind.  These 
reports,  too,  in  their  sometimes  prurient  and  disgusting  details,  full  of 
catalogues  of  horrors  from  which  my  more  timid  pen  would  have  recoiled, 
have  been  spread,  illuminated  with  praises,  in  the  columns  of  the  very 
journals  which  sought  to  damn  me,  and  which  are  now  following  in  my 
wake,  with  feeble  imitations  of  what  it  cost  me  so  much  to  produce.  I  do 
not  think  it  too  much  to  claim  that  the  great  movement  of  illuminating  the 
depths  of  the  moral  and  social  degradation  of  life  in  a  metropolis,  owes 
something  of  its  momentum  to  me ;  and  it  is  in  the  hope  of  accomplishing 
something  more  for  philosophy,  philanthropy,  and  the  great  cause  of 
humanity,  now  crying  aloud  to  be  heard,  that  I  have  with  difficulty  torn 
nryself  from  the  overwhelming  pressure  of  daily  avocations,  clamorous  for 
my  exclusive  strength  and  devotion,  and  carefully,  laboriously,  and  conscien- 
tiously, given  this — probably  the  last  work  of  mine  upon  subjects  of  this 
nature — to  the  press.  If  its  execution  shall  at  all  correspond  with  the 
important  duty  which  has  produced  it,  I  know  it  cannot  be  totally  destitute 
either  of  interest  or  permanent  value. 


18  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 


CHAPTER   I. 

DISCOVERY    OF    NEW   YORK    BAY PURITANS    SAILED    FOR    NEW   YORK,    BUT 

LANDED    AT    PLYMOUTH. 

In  the  month  of  September,  1609,  toward  the  commencement  of  that 
dreamy,  delicious  season,  unknown  but  to  these  regions,  and  poetically 
characterized  by  us  as  the  Indian  Summer,  a  small  and  adventurous 
yacht,  named  the  "Half-moon,"  and  commanded  by  Sir  Hendrick 
Hudson,  first  glided  over  the  waters  of  New  York  Bay — that  bay  which 
now  incloses  more  wealth,  power,  and  commercial  enterprise  than  any 
other  on  the  globe,  and  whose  beauties  are  celebrated  by  bard  and 
romancer,  as  equal  to  those  of  the  renowned  Bay  of  Naples.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  any  vessel  propelled  by  the  guidance  of  human  will,  other 
than  the  canoes  of  the  red  man,  had  ever  profaned  these  lovely  waters.* 
All  around  was  silence  and  solitude,  broken  only  by  the  glancing  of  the 
merry  waters  in  the  yellow  sunlight,  or  the  deep-breathing  of  the  inter- 
minable forest,  that  stretched  away  from  the  green  and  sleeping  point  of 
the  island  for  a  thousand  miles,  to  the  great  undiscovered  lakes  and 
rivers  of  the  north.  The  simple-minded. red  men  at  length  came  down 
towards  the  water's  edge,  in  timid  consternation  at  the  approach  of  the 
strange  and  wondrous  vessel,  with  its  graceful  prow  turning  aside  the 
waters,  and  its  white  wings  extended  to  catch  the  breeze.  They  saw  in 
it  a  great  canoe  of  the  Manitou,  and  with  songs  and  dances,  and  such 
rude  rites  as  their  untutored  natures  had  caught  from  the  unbroken 
traditions  of  their  tribe,  they  began  to  prepare  a  feast  for  the  reception  of 
the  Great  Spirit.  "  By-and-by,"  as  sayeth  the  historian  Heckwelder, 
"  the  chief,  in  red  clothes  and  a  glitter  of  metal,  came  on  shore  in  a  little 
canoe.  Mutual  salutations  and  signs  of  friendship  were  exchanged,  and, 
after  a  while,  strong  drink  was  offered,  which  made  all  gay  and  happy." 
A  short  time  was  necessary  to  make  the  acquaintance  and  acquire  the 
confidence  of  the  simple  Indian  men,  and  when  the  white-skins  offered 
to  treat  with  them  for  as  much  land  as  a  bullock's-hide  could  cover  or 
encompass,  the  request  was  granted;   whereupon,  the   cunning  white 


DISCOVERY    GP   NEW    YORK    BAY.  19 

men,  with  that  deplorable  spirit  of  fraud  which  has  extirpated  a  simple 
but  noble  race,  cursing  us  as  they  sink  into  earth,  and  calling  upon 
Heaven  to  revenge  them  upon  our  heads,  cut  the  bull's-hide  into  a  long 
and  narrow  thong,  with  which  they  encompassed  many  acres.  The 
simple  Indians  took  it  all  in  good  part,  ratified  this  earliest  land  specula- 
tion of  the  cunning  Yankees,  and  welcomed  them  with  a  cordial 
hospitality.  Such  was  the  origin  of  New  York,  on  the  spot  called 
Manhattan,  or  Manahachtanieuks,  which  means,  in  common  prose,  "  the 
place  where  they  all  got  drunk ;"  and  when  we  go  about  the  new 
wilderness  of  brick  and  mortar,  topmasts  and  smokepipes,  with  their 
branches  of  shrouds  and  running  rigging — when  we  descend  into  the 
six  thousand  grog-shops  and  rum-cellars  with  which  the  island  of  New 
York  at  this  high  point  of  civilization  abounds — and  especially  when  we 
walk  through  the  neighborhood  of  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  see  whole 
streets  and  squares  of  groggeries,  containing  poisonous  liquors  enough  to 
fill  another  reservoir  as  large  as  that  of  the  Croton,  grandly  frowning 
above  them — we  are  still  inclined  to  go  back  to  good  old-fashioned 
Indian  nomenclature,  and  exclaim,  "  Yes,  indeed,  this  is  the  spot  where 
they  all  got  drunk  !" 

The  tribe  of  Indians  then  inhabiting  this  region,  were  the  remnants  of 
the  once  warlike  Delawares,  or  Lenapes,  the  chief  of  the  Five  Tribes, 
whose  noble  characteristics  are  so  admirably  described  in  that  best  of  all 
Cooper's  land  romances,  "  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans."  "  When  you  first 
arrived  on  our  shores,"  said  the  good  Lenapes  afterward,  in  remon- 
strating with  Governor  Keift  upon  their  frauds  and  impositions,  "  you 
were  sometimes  in  want  of  food.  Then  we  gave  you  our  beans  and 
corn,  and  let  you  eat  our  oysters  and  fish  ;  we  treated  you  as  if  we  were 
one  of  ourselves,  and  gave  you  our  daughters  for  wives."  It  seems  that 
the  Yankees  began  to  be  ungrateful  even  before  they  became  a  Republic  ! 

After  exploring  the  North  River,  upon  which  expedition  he  was  absent 
twenty-two  days,  Hudson  returned  to  Manhattan,  and  set  sail  on  his 
return  to  Europe.  His  favorable  account  of  the  situation  and  nature  of 
the  country  induced  an  expedition,  in  1-614,  five  years  afterward,  consist- 
ing of  two  ships  under  Capts.  Adrian  Blok  and  Hendrick  Christiaanse. 
It  was  now  that  the  first  actual  settlement  of  New  York  was  begun  upon 
the  site  of  the  present  city,  consisting  during  the  first  year  of  four  small 
houses,  and  in  the  course  of  the  next  twelve  months,  of  a  redoubt  on  the 
site  of  the  old  Macomb  houses,  in  Broadway,  now  occupied  by  the  new 
and  costly  public  stores.  This  little  dorp,  or  village,  was  grandiloquently 
enough  named  New  Amsterdam,  and  its  principal  object  and  purpose  was 


20  KETT     YORK     NAKED. 

as  a  post  for  the  prosecution  of  the  fur-trade,  another  corresponding 
settlement  being  simultaneously  founded  at  Albany.  Holland  was  then 
in  the  palmy  days  of  her  commercial  and  mercantile  prosperity,  building 
every  year  a  thousand  ships,  and  having  twenty  thousand  vessels,  and  a 
hundred  thousand  mariners.  The  city  of  Amsterdam  was  at  the  head 
of  the  fur-trading  enterprise,  and  it  was  her  merchants  who  had  sent  out 
Capt.  Henry  Hudson  to  seek  a  northern  passage  to  the  East  Indies. 
Failing  in  this,  he,  in  search  of  something  to  compensate  for  his  disap- 
pointment, sailed  southward  toward  Virginia,  and  in  so  doing  stumbled 
upon  the  memorable  discovery  of  the  Delaware  and  Hudson  rivers. 

The  genius  of  the  Low  Dutch  was  never,  even  in  its  highest  state  of 
development,  competent  to  originate  and  carry  out  a  systematic  career 
of  colonization,  nor  was  it  with  any  such  purpose  that  the  incipient 
settlement  at  New  Amsterdam  was  commenced;  but  there  were  in 
Holland,  at  that  time,  large  numbers  of  enterprising,  educated,  and  intel- 
ligent Englishmen,  who  had  sought  shelter  there  from  the  fierce  religious 
persecutions  of  their  native  land,  and  they  it' was  who  entertained  the 
earliest  idea  of  founding  a  colony  at  New  York.  They  actually  em- 
barked for  that  purpose  in  1620  ;  but  were  prevented  by  the  stupidity, 
or  rascality,  of  their  Dutch  captain  from  reaching  their  destined  point 
of  debarkation  in  the  pleasant  island  where  we  all  got  drunk,  and  being 
landed,  or  rather  run  ashore,  at  the  bleak  and  barren  rock  of  Plymouth. 
But  destiny,  so  often  playing  us  insignificant  and  atomic  individuals  the 
slipperiest  of  tricks,  is  always  faithful  to  her  trust  when  she  takes  in  hand 
the  fate  of  races  and  of  kingdoms ;  and  thus  it  is,  that  the  Puritans  of 
the  old  Anglo-Saxon  race,  banished  from  their  native  Britain,  and 
departing  from  Holland  to  found  a  new  empire  in  the  just-discovered 
"Western  Hemisphere,  in  a  few  years  penetrated  from  the  barren  and 
rocky  wilds  of  New  England  to  their  original  destination  in  Now  York, 
and  here  assisted  in  essentially  building  up  the  capital  and  the  metropolis 
of  the  future  world — thus  completing  the  destiny  which  the  stolid  error 
of  the  old  Dutch  dunderhead  could  divert  or  impede  but  for  an  instant 
in  the  lapse  of  time.  For  a  few  generations  the  many-breeched  Knicker- 
bockers, Van  Twillers,  and  Stuyvesants,  remained  at  the  head  of  the 
slowly-planted  and  cabbage-growing  New  Amsterdam.  But,  at  length, 
the  feet  of  the  Puritan  touched  the  soil,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  scene 
was  changed.  The  red  man  disappeared,  fading  like  a  cloud  melting 
into  the  invisible  distance,  hard  followed  by  the  broad-backed  and  sub- 
stantial burghers,  who  fast-pursued  them  to  annihilation.  Little  remains 
of  either  but  a  few  unpronouncable  names,  and  the  gable  ends  of  three 


DISCOVERY    OF    NEW    YORK    BAY.  21 

or  four  miserable  groceries,  waiting  for  the  next  fire — of,  what  is  about 
the  same  thing  in  these  tear-down  days,  the  expiration  of  their  leases — 
to  be  overwhelmed  beneath  the  trampling  of  No.  14,  and  the  dirt-cart  of 
modern  improvement,  and  to  give  place  to  another  palace  erected  to  the 
de;fe  of  Trade  and  Commerce. 


82  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 


CHAPTER    II. 

NAME  AND  ORIGINAL  APPEARANCE  OF  NEW  YORK — THE  PAST,  THB 

PRESENT,  AND  THE  FUTURE. 

We  should  not  be  doing  full  justice  to  our  subject,  if,  while  giving  an 
account  of  the  name  and  etymology  of  the  island  and  city,  we  should 
omit  that  most  valuable  and  veracious  of  all  historians,  Deidrich  Knick- 
erbocker, in  our  list  of  "  authorities "  thereupon.  This  renowned 
historian  gives  the  matter,  as  is  usual  with  him  when  detailing  great 
and  important  facts,  a  pleasant  and  facetious  turn ;  but,  nevertheless, 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  his  jokes  ;  and  it 
is  therefore  very  probable,  his  account  is,  after  all,  the  only  true  one. 
According  to  Deidrich,  the  name  of  the  island  most  current  at  the  present 
day — Manhattan — and  which  is  also  countenanced  by  the  great  historian 
Vanderdonk,  originated  in  the  custom  among  the  squaws  of  the  early 
settlement  of  wearing  men's  hats,  as  still  may  be  seen  to  be  the  custom 
among  those  of  the  tribe  that  occasionally  appear  in  Broadway. 
"Hence,"  quoth  Deidrich,  "as  we  are  told  by  the  old  governor,  who  is 
somewhat  of  a  wag,  hence  rose  the  appellation  of  Man-hat-on,  first 
given  to  the  Indians,  afterward  to  the  island.  A  stupid  joke,"  adds 
Deidrich,  "  but  well  enough  for  a  governor."  In  the  history  of  Mr. 
Richard  Blome,  written  in  1687,  the  island  is  called  Manhadses ;  while 
John  Josselyn  (not  the  famous  clown)  expressly  calls  it  Manadaes.  Other 
authorities  give  different  etymologies  of  this  beautiful  name,  among 
which  is  Manetho,  derived  from  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  Indians,  who  was 
supposed  to  make  this  island  his  favorite  abode,  on  account,  according  to 
Knickerbocker,  of  its  uncommon  delights ; .  for  the  Indian  traditions 
affirm  that  the  bay  was  once  a  translucent  lake,  filled  with  silvery  and 
golden,  fish,  in  the  midst  of  which  lay  this  beautiful  island,  covered  with 
every  variety  of  fruits  and  flowers  ;  but  that  the  sudden  eruption  of 
the  Hudson  River  laid  waste  these  blissful  scenes,  and  Manetho  took  his 
flight  beyond  the  great  waters  of  the  Ontario. 

The  original  face  of  New  York  Island,  there   is   every  reason  for 


THE  PAST,  THE  PRESENT,  AN©  THE  FUTURE.  23 

supposing,  was  a  succession  of  green  hills,  gently  undulating  up  and 
away  from  the  shore,  and  lost  in  the  superincumbent  wilderness.  At  the 
extreme  south  end  of  Broadway,  where  the  ancient  fort  formerly  stood, 
was  an  elevated  mound  of  about  the  same  height  as  the  present  level  of 
Trinity  Church,  which,  from  that  point,  swept  regularly  and  gradually 
down  to  the  shore  on  the  North  river.  In  the  neighborhood  of  Pearl 
and  Beekman  streets,  two  rather  precipitous  hills,  known  as  Beekman's 
and  Peek's  hills,  rose  and  extended  down  to  the  Middle  Dutch  Church, 
in  Nassau  street,  and  to  Maiden  Lane.  Between  these  acclivities,  in 
several  places,  flowed  streams  of  water,  while  an  inlet  from  the  bay, 
called  the  canal,  set  up  for  a  considerable  distance  what  is  now  known  as 
Broad  street.  Up  Maiden  Lane  flowed  another  inlet,  through  Smith's 
marsh,  or  fallow.  A  little  beyond  Peck  Slip  existed  a  low  water-course, 
which,  in  high  tide,  ran  up  to  the  Collect  (Kolck),  and  thence,  joining 
with  Lispenard's  Swamp,  on  the  North  River  side,  produced  a  union  of 
waters  quite  across  the  entire  city  :  thus,  according  to  Watson's  Annals, 
converting  it  sometimes  into  an  island,  the  eastern  shore  of  which  was  at 
the  present  low  line  of  Pearl  street,  as  it  crosses  Chatham.  At  this 
point  it  was  occasionally  necessary  to  use  boats  to  cross  the  foot-passen- 
gers passing  from  either  side  of  the  rising  ground  ranging  on  both  sides 
of  Pearl  street,  as  that  street  inclines  across  the  city  till  it  runs  out  upon 
Broadway. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  follow  out  in  detail  and  step  by  step  the  gra- 
dual but  miraculous  growth  of  this  vast  metropolis,  from  the  little  strug- 
gling dorp  of  Low  Dutch  houses,  scattered  around  the  fort  at  the  south- 
ern extremity  of  the  island,  to  its  present  gigantic  dimensions  and  power 
as  the  third  city  in  the  civilized  world.  Taking  the  two  extreme  points 
©f  the  landing  of  Hendrick  Hudson  and  the  census  of  1850,  the  imagi- 
nation, by  a  single  glance,  takes  in  by  intuition  the  characteristic  idea  of 
the  intervening  space  of  two  hundred  and  forty  years  that  have  elapsed, 
and  of  all  the  wondrous,  changes  which  these  years  have  brought.  To 
me  the  pursuits  and  labors  of  the  antiquarian  and  the  historian  have 
ever  been  uncongenial ;  and  the  historical  studies  which  I  have  been 
compelled  at  various  times  to  pursue  in  the  exercise  of  my  literary 
labors,  were  always  irksome,  and  among  the  least  welcome  of  my  tasks. 
This  is,  perhaps,  a  strange  confession  for  a  man  to  make  who  aspires  to 
be  a  writer,  and  even  an  instructor  of  his  kind ;  yet  as  I  cannot  so  far 
forget  myself  as  to  say  that  of  myself  which  is  not  strictly  true,  so  I  feel 
bound  to  make  the  confession.  To  me  it  has  ever  appeared  that  when 
the  present  has  done  its  work,  and  glided  to  the  "  dim  dominions  of  the 


24  NEW   YORK   NAKED. 

past,*  it  has  no  longer  any  vital  interest,  and  that  the  lessons  and  morals 
which  mankind  has  for  so  many  thousand  years  been  in  the  habit  of 
drawing  from  its  incidents,  had  better  be  left  unknown.  The  human 
race  can  make  no  certain  progress  in  the  right  direction,  so  long  as  its 
eyes  are  constantly  fixed  upon  the  past,  and  all  its  ideas,  principles,  pro- 
cesses, and  methods,  are  drawn  alone  from  what  has  been.  True,  the 
melancholy  histories  of  ignorance,  superstition,  oppression,  and  crime, 
which  form  the  staple  materials  of  the  world's  history  in  all  times,  and 
in  all  countries,  furnish  abundant  beacons  to  warn  us  from  what  has  gone 
before  ;  but  their  friendly  light  has  never  yet  been  regarded  by  man  or 
nation.  Men  have  studied  the  past,  but  to  learn  how  individual  suocess 
in  obtaining  power  over  the  minds  of  their  fellow-men  was  best  to  be 
achieved.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  society  has  drawn  no  benefi- 
cent lesson  from  the  past,  and  that  it  is  alone  to  the  hope  in  the  future, 
and  a  perfect  sense  of  what  the  destiny  of  man  should  be,  that  we  may 
look  for  the  true  science  of  human  progress. 

One  of  the  most  striking  illustrations  of  these  views  is  the  actual 
existence  of  this  very  metropolis.  Scan  it  closely  and  with  a  careful 
eye — analyze  the  elements  of  its  apparent  prosperity,  and  the  real  mis- 
ery of  the  thousands  whose  unprofitable,  joyless  lives  go  to  swell  the 
imposing  records  of  our  boasted  census — examine  into  the  condition  of 
its  society — measure  the  barriers,  insurmountable  as  walls  of  iron,  which, 
separate  the  different  castes  of  which  it  is  composed — the  millionaire 
from  the  man  of  genius,  struggling  with  poverty  and  neglect — the  lordly 
merchant  and  the  starving  author — the  wealthy  and  insolent  few  who 
insult  the  public  by  an  exhibition  of  the  trappings  of  a  nobility  and  rank 
for  which  they  have  not  even  the  excuse  of  ancestral  name  and  blood — 
go,  as  I  have  done,  through  the  lanes  and  alleys,  the  underground  dens 
of  poverty ;  visit  the  haunts  of  crime,  and  filth,  and  licentiousness,  the 
vast  caravanseries  without  air  or  the  light  of  heaven,  crowded  with  hun- 
dreds of  gasping  paupers — inquire  into  the  histories  of  our  thousand 
inventors  and  men  of  brains  and  genius — investigate,  in  a  word,  the 
whole  movement  of  the  machinery  of  life,  which  carries  along  this  great 
metropolis,  this  magnificent  city,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  New  World, 
the  boast  of  mankind,  the  crown  of  civilization ;  and  in  what  respect  is 
it  better  than  the  cities  of  the  Old  World,  where  oppressions  sanctified 
by  ages  and  sanctioned  by  law  and  military  power,  have  so  long  held 
undisputed  and  absolute  sway  ?  Swell  as  it  may  with  pride  the  heart  of 
the  philanthropist,  in  commencing  this  investigation  into  our  actual  con- 
dition, long  before  he  has  finished  his  work,  it  will  throb  with  pain  and 


THB  PAST,  THE  PRESENT,  AND  THE  FUTURE.  25 

sympathy  over  the  woes,  and  sorrows,  and  sufferings,  he  cannot  allevi- 
ate ;  over  the  injustice  and  oppression  he  cannot  remedy ;  over  the 
whole  rottenness  and  corruption  of  the  social  fabric,  which  but  now 
appeared  to  him  so  noble  and  so  beautiful. 

Is  it,  then,  true,  that  the  destiny  of  humanity  is  not  progressive,  but 
that,  running  ever  round  in  a  wide  circle,  the  vast  arc  deceives  our  nar- 
row vision,  and  we  think  we  advance  onward,  while  every  step  brings 
us   nearer  to  the  point  whence  we   set   out  ?     Read  the  past,  consult 
history,  shut  up  your  hope,  and  give  play  but  to  memory  and  the  power 
of  reminiscence,  and  the  answer  must  be,  it  is  even  so !     Only  when  we 
have  closed  our  perceptions  to  the  outward  form  and  order  of  material 
events,  when  we  have  opened  up  the  interiors  of  the  soul,  and  asked  of 
her  as  a  part  of  God  Himself,  our  ultimate  destiny,  does  the  true  glory 
of  humanity  begin  to  break  around  us.     We  do  not  believe  that  there  is 
a  city  in  Europe,  where,  in  proportion  to  its  population,  a  greater  amount 
of  degradation,  suffering,  licentiousness  and  crime,  exists,  than  in  this 
very,  this  proud  and  magnificent  New  York.     Beneath  the  tall  spires  of 
its  countless  churches,  and  within  the  shadow  of  its  commercial  palaces 
and  princely  mansions,  where  life  flows  so  brightly  and  so  gaily,  catching 
and  reflecting  every  sunbeam  as  it  dances  across  each  cresting  wave,  rolls 
the  deep,  dark,  sullen  ocean  of  poverty,  crime  and  despair.    And  he  who 
would  justly  perform  his  duty  to  the  times  and  to  his  race,  must  not 
hesitate  to  launch  out  fearlessly  upon  this  gloomy  sea,  but  explore  its 
profoundest  recesses,  and  bring  to  the  light  of  day  the  horrid  monsters 
that  live  and  gender  in  its  oozy  depths.     This  work  be  mine.     Already 
have  I  shed  some  light  but  dimly,  and  by  transient  gleams,  over  the  vast 
and  momentous  problem  of  life  in  New  York.     Now  the  time  has  come 
when  my  labor  is  to  be  reviewed,  and  its  deficiencies  supplied,  and  when 
the  whole  work,  so  far  as  its  execution  lies  within  my  power,  must  be 
well  and  faithfully  done.     Yes,  without  fear  or  favor,  I  must  speak  the 
truth  of  the  various  classes  of  man,  aye,  and  of  womankind,  who  go  to 
make  up  the  population  of  this  mighty  city.     What  motives  govern 
them,  what  ends  they  purpose,  and  what  means  they  use — these  are  the 
themes  which  must  employ  my  pen.     And  as  a  true  and  faithful  student 
of  natural  history — for  is  not  the  study  of  mankind  and  his  phenomena 
ten  thousand  times  better  deserving  the  name  of  natural  history,  than  the 
atomic  results  of  lives  spent  in  watching  the  domestic  habits  o^grubs  and 
beetles,  or  analyzing  and  baptizing  the  strata  of  inaccessible  rocks? 
Humanity  is  the  creature,  the  creator,  the  consummation  of  the  universe. 
God  himself  is  but  the  perfect  Man ;  and  although  in  his  long  and  weary 

2 


26  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

course  from  the  germinative  peace  and  purity,  the  innocence  and  infan- 
tile experience  of  Eden,  he  has  departed  far  and  wide  from  the  knowledge 
of  his  divine  character  and  destiny,  yet,  when  this  term  of  probation  has 
expired,  when  the  forty  days  of  agony  and  despair  in  the  wilderness  have 
gone  by,  and  passed  with  shriekings  and  wailings  into  the  tomb  of  time, 
then  from  its  Mount  Pisgah  shall  humanity  behold  the  promised  laud, 
the  restoration  of  its  Eden,  its  purity  and  its  divine  union  with  God  him- 
self. Therefore,  shall  I,  animated  by  a  knowledge  consoling  and 
glorious  as  this,  shall  I  be  swayed  by  fear  of  the  petty  spite  or  malice  of 
disappointed  men  or  embittered  classes,  in  the  discharge  of  this  my 
knightly  devoir  in  the  great  tournament  of  life  ?  No !  that  which  is 
within  me,  that  which  compensates  me  for  the  unprofitable  dreams  and 
unfruitful  struggles  of  life,  shall  be  faithfully  and  honestly  recorded  in 
these  pages ;  so  that  when  this  body  has  passed  away,  and  the  spiritual 
man  that  animates  it  has  resumed  its  existence  in  those  spheres  where 
life  is  immortal,  and  progress  infinite,  it  may  smile  with  a  satisfaction 
that  all  the  rewards  and  honors  of  the  world  could  never  bestow  to  see 
my  children,  and  their  children's  children,  in  the  new  and  higher  dispen- 
sation that  is  rapidly  coming  upon  the  earth — not  ashamed  of  the 
thoughts  and  aspirations  of  their  humble  ancestor.  So  let  us  to  our 
work  in  earnest.  Let  us  touch  with  the  disenchanting  spear  of  truth  the 
various  classes  of  life  and  society  in  New  York.  Let  us  compel  from 
them  their  utmost  secret,  the  theory  upon  which  they  act,  the  thought 
and  hope  upon  which  they  live.  Let  us  strip  off  the  mask  in  which  each 
plays  its  mummery  before  the  rest,  and  let  us  show  in  their  true  propor- 
tions, and  each  with  its  name  indelibly  branded  upon  its  forehead,  the 
demons  that  guide  and  direct  the  game  of  daily  life  in  our  metropolis. 


THE  MERCANTILE  BARONS  OF  NEW  YORK.  2T 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     MERCANTILE    BARONS    OF    NEW    YORK THE     CALIFORNIA    SWINDLE — > 

THE    PRESS,     AND    THE,    PART      IT     PLAYED     IN     THE     GAME A     GLIMPSE 

AT    LIFE    ON    THE    PACIFIC. 

f 

It  would  be  as  impossible  as  unprofitable  to  enter  into  a  minute 
detail  of  the  transactions  and  processes  of  mercantile  and  commercial 
life  in  all  their  ramifications.  It  would  be  as  practicable  to  follow  a 
blackleg  through  all  the  devious  windings  of  his  career  and  pic- 
ture each  sin  of  fraud  and  robbery  and  outrage,  in  which  he  has 
been  engaged.  As  the  tyrant  and  despot  who  erects  his  throne  and 
establishes  his  bloody  power  upon  the  corpses  of  millions  of  subjects,  or 
enemies  slain  in  battle  or  in  the  light  of  day,  towers  in  sublimity  above 
the  assassin  who  sneaks  about  the  midnight  streets,  and  lays  in  wait  for 
a  solitary  victim,  so  the  prosperous  merchant-prince  of  the  nineteenth 
century  looms  proudly  above  the  petty  gambler  and  swindler.  And  as 
the  assassin  who  kills  but  a  single  man  would,  if  caught,  swing  upon  • 
the  gallows,  while  the  monster  who  immolates  his  millions  is  satiated 
with  the  applause  of  the  glorifying  world,  so  our  merchant-prince  treads 
loftily  the  career  of  honor  and  respect  and  emulation,  while  the  thief 
and  the  blackleg  live  in  daily  and  nightly  fear  of  the  iron  fingers  of  the 
law. 

Notwithstanding  the  impossibility  of  chronicling  in  detail  the  move- 
ments of  the  commercial  world,  within  the  limits  of  a  single  volume,  yet 
it  is  indispensable  to  our  purpose  that  we  should  communicate  some 
general  idea  of  the  intrinsic  character  of  these  operations  which  control 
the  world  and  form  the  basis  of  modern  commerce ;  that  we  should 
show  by  a  few  strong  artistic  touches  the  fundamental  principle  that 
stimulates  the  movements  of  the  world  of  trade  and  the  laws  which 
govern  it.  For  this  purpose,  the  recent  discovery  of  the  gold  mines  of 
California,  and  the  unparalleled  excitement  which  has  in  consequence 
swept  over  the  face  of  the  entire  civilized  world,  will  faithfully  and  effi- 
ciently serve  our  purpose.     Fortunately  the  details  of  this  history    are 


28  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

fresh  in  the  minds  and  memories  of  all.  So  sensitive  and  retentive  is 
the  money-making  faculty,  that  events  which  bear  upon  it  are  keenly 
remembered  and  not  likelv  to  be  forgotten.  It  is  fresh  in  the  recollec- 
tion  of  us  all,  the  delighted  and  half  incredulous,  yet  willingly  received, 
enthusiasm  with  which  the  first  reports  of  the  gold  discoveries  in  Cali- 
fornia were  received.  So  miserably  insufficient  and  unsatisfactory  is  the 
life,  and  the  reward  of  life,  of  every  man  in  this  inverted  age  of  human 
energy  and  activity,  that  the  slightest  rumor  of  a  change  for  the 
better  or  the  opening  of  a  fresher  and  more  attractive  field,  instan- 
taneously excites  the  acquisitive  faculties  of  the  entire  community 
to  a  state  of  partial  insanity.  The  parties  who  had  been  prepar- 
ing to  take  advantage  of  the  California  discovery  for  their  enrichment 
well  knew  and  had  deeply  studied  this  all-controlling  trait  in  the  dispo- 
sitions of  mankind,  and  their  plans  were  skillfully  laid,  and  adroitly  exe- 
cuted, for  increasing  the  delirious  excitement  produced  by  these  golden- 
winged  rumors,  and  urging  to  madness  the  cupidity  of  that  restless,  ever 
shifting,  ever  discontented  mass  who  form  so  large  and  important  a  por- 
tion of  our  population.  It  is  much  to  say,  yet  it  is  not  too  much,  that 
the  whole  scheme  of  California  emigration,  the  results  of  which,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  have  not  yet  begun  to  rise  upon  the  perceptions  of  the 
world,  was  the  cold-blooded  and  deliberate  execution  of  a  plan  for  work- 
ing upon  the  weaknesses  of  humanity,  even  to  the  destitution,  the  deso- 
lation, and  the  destruction  of  its  victims,  for  the  mere  and  absolute  pur- 
pose of  filling  the  already  distended  coffers  of  a  few  reckless  and  gigan- 
tic gamblers,  and  these  gamblers,  too,  the  men  who  aim  at  and  achieve 
the  highest  positions  in  the  respect  and  reverence  of  the  community — 
men  whose  persons  inspire  awe  among  their  fellow-citizens,  whose  slight- 
est nod  of  recognition  is  treasured  by  the  humble  disciple  as  an  heir- 
loom and  the  foundation  of  the  future  pride  of  his  family  ;  whose  move- 
ments control  the  destinies  of  the  great  and  miserable  world  of  Helot- 
ism,  the  ill-paid,  the  uneducated,  the  half  destitute  and  half  brutalized 
domain  of  labor  and  production  These  are  the  men  who  assign  the 
position  of  every  man  and  every  institution  in  the  community,  whose 
power  is  more  arbitrary  and  more  unscrupulously  used  than  that  of  the 
most  violent  of  those  feudal  tyrants  that  once  led  their  vassals  and 
retainers  to  the  field  of  battle. 

The  means  by  which  the  designs  of  these  individuals  were  carried  out 
were  various,  but  all  disreputable.  The  principal  engine,  however,  of  all 
the  mischief,  and  I  blush  for  my  profession  and  for  my  race  when  I  write 
it,  has  been  the  press — that  sole  representative  on  earth  of  the  chivalry 


THE    CALIFORNIA    SWINDLE.  29 

of  humanity,  that  sole  unpaid  defender  of  the  oppressed,  righter  of  the 
wronged,  and  terror  of  the  mighty  evil-doer — that  knight-errant  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  whose  pen,  more  mighty  than  the  lance  or  battle-axe 
of  armed  knight,  can  pierce  through  the  stoutest  mail  of  evil,  and'  hurl 
to  the  dust  the  monstrous  giants  that  ever  stride  and  trample  upon  man- 
kind. And  yet,  how  basely,  how  utterly,  and  for  how  contemptible  a 
price,  has  this  noble  champion  of  the  world  been  seduced  from  its  high 
and  holy  mission  !  How  insignificant  the  Delilah  who,  with  her  golden 
shears,  has  made  fall  the  locks  of  strength  of  this  Samson  of  the  Israe- 
lites of  our  day  !  I  know,  and  could  trace  man  by  man,  and  act  by  act, 
the  whole  of  this  infamous  conspiracy  against  the  peace,  and  health,  and 
hope,  and  life  of  this  community.  I  could  show  how,  that  certain  res- 
pectable and  honored  merchants  should  receive  large  sums  for  passage- 
money  from  the  enormous  emigration  to  California ;  these  gold  rumors 
were  inflated,  and  repeated,  and  reiterated,  in  the  ears  of  the  credulous 
public,  and  printed  and  paid  for  column  by  column,  and  endorsed  with 
all  the  editorial  authority  of  our  leading  journals.  Taking  the  cue  from 
those  weighty  and  controlling  organs  of  news  and  public  opinion,  the 
smaller  journals,  both  in  our  own  city  and  throughout  the  whole 
country,  have  reechoed  the  ery,  and  helped  to  swell  these  fascinating 
and  irresistible  reports  which  sent  crowds  upon  crowds  to  our  ports  of 
embarkation,  and  decimated  the  community  of  its  best,  most  youthful, 
and  most  precious  material,  to  pour  it  out  upon  the  crags,  and  deserts, 
and  carious  of  California — leaving  behind,  oh,  what  desolated  hearth- 
stones, that  shall  never  glow  again  with  the  cheerful  light  of  domestic 
peace !  and  what  tender  and  loving  hearts,  to  break  over  the  disappointed 
hopes  that  had  reconciled  them  to  the  separation  from  those  they  held 
dearer  than  life,  but  who,  alas !  they  shall  see  no  more  for  ever  !  Some 
have  laid  their  weary  frames  upon  the  sands  of  the  western  deserts, 
where  the  bald  eagle  and  the  prairie  wolf  have  screamed  and  howled, 
circling  and  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  them  as  the  flame  of  life 
burned  low,  and  at  last  went  out.  Some,  reaching  the  goal  of  their  fond 
hopes,  have  found  their  golden  anticipations  bitterly  blasted ;  and,  in  des- 
pair, and  the  reaction  of  their  insane  excitement,  have  either  sunk  to 
death  beneath  the  remorseless  hand  of  disease  that  reigns  in  these 
inhospitable  climes,  or  become  the  victims  of  debauchery  and  crime. 
Thousands  now  linger  drooping  and  sad  upon  those  barren  mountains, 
who  would  exchange  their  right  arms  for  the  means  to  return  to  their 
homes  ;  who  would  willingly  lay  down  their  lives  the  moment  after  they 
had  been  permitted  once  more  to  clasp  wife  and  children  to  their  hearts, 


30  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

and  cover  them  with  their  dying  blessing.  Language,  powerful  and  sun- 
ning as  it  is,  has  but  faint  power  to  paint  the  horrors  of  that  grave  of 
hopeful  men ;  and  if  we  reflect  that  all  this  terrible  excitement  and  this 
terrific  result  has  been  deliberately  invoked  for  the  mere  purpose  of 
enriching  a  few  men  who  already  were  rich  enough  to  answer  every 
extravagant  wish  of  themselves  and  theirs,  the  idea  becomes  too  oppres- 
sive and  too  incredible  to  be  entertained.  Yet,  such  is  the  melancholy, 
the  miserable  fact ;  and  this  little  history  contains  the  epitome  of  the 
whole  life  of  commerce.  From  it  may  be  drawn  the  great  lesson  which 
it  teaches,  and  the  lesson  that  awaits  it.  For,  let  us  not  insult  God  by 
believing  that  an  institution  like  this,  which  Moloch-like  immolates  its 
victims  by  thousands,  can  be  a  permanent  and  necessary  condition  of 
humanity.  No !  The  time  is  coming  when  all  that  which  we  now  know 
as  commerce  and  trade,  and  all  the  respectable,  and  venerable,  and  wor- 
shipful institutions  and  conventionalities  which  it  has  established  and  by 
which  it  reigns,  shall  have  disappeared  from  among  mankind ;  when  the 
honest  labors,  and  the  spontaneous  efforts  of  all  shall  bring  their  products 
to  the  general  storehouse,  whence  in  turn  all  shall  freely  and  without 
price,  draw  the  necessaries,  the  luxuries,  and  the  embellishments  of  life. 
"Were  it  not  for  this  hope,  for  this  certainty,  that  shapes  itself  in  light  in 
the  heart  of  every  hopeful  dreamer,  mankind,  and  destiny,  and  God, 
would  be  an  enigma  too  horrible  to  be  contemplated  by  a  sane  and 
thoughtful  soul. 

[Note. — This  chapter  was  written  two  years  and  a  half  ago,  when  the 
mad  rush  to  California,  excited  by  the  means  I  have  described,  was  at  its 
height,  and  the  accounts  almost  daily  received  from  the  plains,  the 
Isthmus,  and  from  San  Francisco,  and  the  diggings  themselves,  were 
actually  appalling.  It  could  not  but  be  that  thirty  months  of  the  intense 
activity  of  the  present  age,  and  the  operation  of  that  recuperative  energy 
which  so  strongly  characterizes  our  race,  should  have  wrought  great 
changes  for  the  better  in  the  condition  of  life  on  the  Pacific.  But,  as  the 
facts  I  have  stated,  were  all  lamentably  true,  tJien,  and  as  the  deductions 
I  have  drawn,  are  true,  always,  I  let  the  chapter  stand  as  it  was — like 
those  crosses  which  are  left  to  mark  the  places  where  murders  have  been 
committed  on  the  hiodi  road,  Ion*  after  the  banditti  hordes  have  fled 
before  the  approach  of  civilization.] 


A   TRUE   THEORY    OF    TRADE.  31 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NOBLE  EXCEPTIONS  TO  THE  CORRUPTIONS  OF  COMMERCE — A  TRUE  THEORY 

OF  TRADE. 

I  ought,  perhaps,  to  state  that,  exceptions,  and  noble  ones,  exist  in 
every  evil  that  afflicts  the  world.  Were  it  not  so,  we  should  have  no 
tangible  sign  of  the  reality  of  our  hope  in  a  progressive  and  beautiful 
destiny  for  the  ultimate  condition  of  mankind.  Many  magnanimous  and 
excellent,  pure,  good,  and  trustworthy  natures  may  be  found  in  the  great 
world  of  commerce — many  large  and  noble  hearts,  whose  deeds  of  silent 
beneficence  transcend  the  charity  of  angels,  by  so  much  as  their  position 
is  less  favorable  to  goodness  than  theirs.  "  None  are  all  evil,"  saith  the 
poet ;  and  it  is  at  last  to  poetry  and  its  visions  that  we  must  resort  for 
all  true  prophecy  and  prophetic  inspiration.  There  are  many  high  and 
lofty  merchants  in  New  York,  who  not  only  honor  their  Maker  and 
themselves,  but  rescue  their  profession  from  some  portion  of  the  odium 
which  otherwise  would  weigh  it  down,  and  annihilate  it,  by  the  enor- 
mity of  its  own  baseness.  These,  whoever  they  are,  and  wherever  they 
may  be,  will  understand  and  admit  much  of  the  truth  that  I  have  written 
upon  their  craft ;  nor  do  they  require  to  be  pointed  out  in  person.  Such 
notoriety  would  be  as  unwelcome  as  uncongenial  to  the  generous  law  of 
their  existence. 

Nor  am  I  at  all  blind  to  the  momentary  importance  and  greatness  of 
commerce  as  an  agent  and  engine  in  the  progressive  development  of 
society ;  and  while  I  cannot  accord  to  commerce  a  greater  degree 
of  virtue  than  to  those  other  forms  of  oppression  which  are  rapidly 
becoming  extinct  on  earth,  yet  I  clearly  see  that  it  is  a  phase  in  advance 
of  them — and  that,  though  mankind,  under  its  infliction,  may  not  suffer 
less,  yet  the  glorious  consolation  remains,  that  they  have  not  still  so  long 
to  suffer.  From  savageism  to  feudalism  was  a  step  forward.  From 
feudalism  to  the  present  forms  of  a  commercial  hierarchy  is  another,  and 
a  long  and  most  important,  step.  When,  and  in  what  direction,  will  the 
next  be  taken,  we  may  only  guess ;  but,  for  any  rational  and  true  answer, 


32  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

I  should  not  apply  to  the  various  reformers  of  the  day,  who  go  about  in 
shabby  coats  and  dirty  boots,  preaching  reform,  until  they  have  turned 
an  honest  penny  out  of  the  gaping  gullibility  of  the  crowd,  and  then  set 
up  respectability  and  old  fogyism  with  the  best  of  them.  At  present, 
we  can  only  investigate  and  look  upon  these  rascalities  of  all  sorts,  and 
especially  of  mousing  and  cheating  tradesmen,  as  a  great  moral  ulcer,  as 
cities  have  before  me  wisely  been  called — an  ulcer,  too,  which  must  disap- 
pear and  be  transmuted  into  clean  white  flesh,  before  the  moral  leprosy 
that  enscales  the  great  body  of  society  will  ever  disappear. 

Nor  are  the  absolute  robberies  and  extortions  of  trade  its  worst  evils. 
The  moral  effect  of  its  practice,  and  its  teachings,  the  crushing  blight  it 
shoots  from  infancy  over  the  expanding  enthusiastic  soul  of  youth,  the 
cold,  absorbing  lessons  it  instills,  drop  by  drop,  into  the  heart  of  noble 
sympathizing  nature,  in  its  child-like  phases,  the  practical  teachings  of 
shrewdness,  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  which  cautious  fathers  and 
calculating  mothers  are  so  prompt  to  impart  to  their  offspring,  are  a 
monstrosity,  great  enough  to  convert  the  whole  human  race  into  devils ; 
and  when  I  think  seriously  of  all  these  things,  instead  of  wondering  that 
mankind  are  so  bad,  I  wonder  that  any  of  them  are  better,  and  that  all 
are  not  worse. 

The  business  of  conducting  the  necessary  barter  among  members 
of  the  same  country  and  between  the  different  nations  of  the  earth,  the 
whole  machinery  of  trade  and  commerce,  will,  in  another  and  a  better 
state  of  society,  be  of  the  simplest  construction  and  most  unexpensive 
operation. 

The  ramifications  of  trade  are,  of  course,  as  diversified  and  complicated 
as  the  wants  and  necessities  of  society.  I  have  but  indicated  two  or 
three  of  the  most  notdrious  and  conspicuous  among  them.  Were  I  to 
prolong  this  catalogue  until  I  had  exhausted  the  material  for  instructive 
and  profitable  comment,  and  disclosure  of  the  dishonesty  of  the  operations 
of  trade,  my  book  would  be  full  ere  I  had  fairly  laid  out  the  subject.  But 
perhaps,  in  justice  to  my  own  profession,  and  to  literary  men  in  general, 
I  ought  not  to  dismiss  it  without  one  blow  wielded  for  the  honest  recom- 
pense of  genius,  talent,  scholarship,  and  mental  toil.  As  it  is,  the  man  of 
genius,  let  him  be  the  most  cautious-tempered,  moderate,  and  discreet  of 
his  class,  must  waste  the  greater,  and  better,  and  fairer,  and  brighter 
portion  of  his  life  in  unrecompensed  drudgery,  that  he  may  erect  for 
himself  a  platform  upon  which  to  stand,  and  from  which  to  clutch  a  tardy 
reward  for  his  priceless  labors.  We  cannot,  conscientiously,  let  escape  the 
whole  class  of  book-publishers  and  brain-buyers,  from  the  severest  of  our 


A   TRUE   THEORY    OF   TRADE.  33 


censures  upon  the  more  material  products  and  operations  in  the  world  of 
trade.  Oh  !  if  I  dared  but  take  the  cover  off  a  hundred  or  two  of  brains 
I  know  of,  and  dip  out  with  the  point  of  my  pen  the  secret  history 
of  their  owners,  the  breadless  days  and  sleepless  nights,  the  feverish  and 
crazing  years  of  struggle,  and  suspense,  and  mental  torture,  the  tempta- 
tions to  crime  and  suicide,  the  greatly  growing  misanthropy,  which  at 
last  enveloped  the  whole  horizon  in  a  dense  and  gloomy  cloud,  dreve  the 
remembrance  of  the  rosy  dreams  of  youth  out  of  existence,  and  paralyzed 
the  very  spirit  within  them,  what  a  sad,  what  a  humiliating  record  would 
it  be !  The  old  world  of  letters  in  Europe,  where  Goldsmith  begged  and 
Johnson  starved,  and  Pope  turned  sycophant,  and  Savage  died  in  the 
gutter,  was  in  all  conscience  bad  enough,  one  would  think,  to  draw  down 
upon  the  world  the  fiercest  judgments  of  an  offended  God,  who  saw  his 
spirit,  in  shape  of  human  genius,  freely  imparted  to  his  favored  children, 
thus  spurned  upon  and  trampled  in  the  dust  by  coarse  and  griping 
avarice  and  the  tyranny  of  trade.  But  if  this  were  outrageous  in  the  old 
monarchies  of  letters,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  state  of  things  in  our 
republic  of  letters,  where,  in  addition  to  the  conventional,  proverbial,  and 
professional  wrongs  heaped  upon  authors  by  the  publishers,  they  are 
subjected  to  the  crushing  competition  of  the  stolen  literature  of  all  the 
world  beside,  thundered  down  in  one  incessant  reign  of  folios,  quartos, 
and  duodecimos  upon  their  devoted  heads  ?  If  the  publishers  of  Grub 
street  were  mean,  and  selfish,  and  cruel,  and  tyrannical,  they  at  least  paid, 
in  some  sort  of  fashion,  for  what  they  published  ;  but  the  autocrats  of  our 
Grub  street  not  only  refuse  to  buy  the  products  of  American  genius,  on 
the  plea  that  they  can  have  all  the  intellect  of  Europe  for  nothing,  but 
they  impudently  parade  upon  their  catalogues  the  damning  fact  that  they 
can  afford  to  publish  the  works  of  all  the  great  intellects  in  the  world  at 
one  third  the  price  at  which  they  can  be  purchased  in  Europe.  No 
wonder  !  And  if  the  laws  were  as  lenient  to  those  who  stole  dry-goods 
and  hardware,  as  to  those  who  only  steal  brains,  why,  I  could  set  up  a 
grocery  or  a  rag-shop  to-morrow,  and  undersell  by  fifty  per  cent,  all  my 
rivals  in  the  city  !  Perhaps  the  world  will  one  day  get  far  enough  along 
to  understand  that  material  product  is  not,  after  all,  the  highest  of  earthly 
possessions,  and  that  brains,  and  mind,  and  genius,  and  intellect,  deserve' 
also  their  protection  and  their  reward. 

Coming  fairly  under  the  head  of  mental  producers,  are  the  great  and 
enlightened  body  of  American  inventors,  who,  from  the  political  corrup- 
tion that  reigns  at  Washington,  from  the  unfaithful  and  corrupt  adminis- 
tration of  our  laws,  and  from  the  dishonest  combinations  and  conspira- 


34  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

cies  of  capitalists  toi control  or  crush  inventive  genius,  are  nearly  as  bad 
off  as  the  poor  scribblers  themselves.  The  history  of  the  struggles, 
the  disappointments,  the  extortions,  the  oppressions  and  outrages  through 
which  alone  an  inventor  can  carry  his  invention,  and  bring  it  fairly 
before  the  public,  would  be  enough  to  appal  the  most  sanguine  and 
enthusiastic  inventor  of  some  new  improvement  in  the  world  of  science 
that  ever  lived.  It  would  be  a  history  reflecting  and  fastening  the  deep- 
est moral  turpitude  upon  a  majority  of  the  officials — I  mean  those  of  all 
administrations  and  under  all  parties,  who  preside  in  the  various 
departments  of  the  government.  It  would  be  a  history  of  the  bribing  oi 
congressmen,  and  chief  engineers,  and  commissioners,  and  clerks,  and 
secretaries,  by  cunning  and  shallow-pated  designers,  and  the  fruitless 
struggle  of  the  really  deserving,  and,  therefore,  the  honest,  who  could 
not  understand  what  it  was  against  which  they  were  contending. 

Jealous,  as  pretends  to  be  our  frugal  and  economical  government  of 
expending  the  people's  treasure  upon  schemes  of  private  interest,  or  for 
the  aggrandizement  of  individuals,  yet  millions  are  annually  thrown 
away,  squandered,  wasted  absolutely,  upon  the  most  worthless  men,  and 
still  more  worthless  schemes,  while  honest  possessors  of  invaluable 
secrets  and  discoveries  in  the  world  of  Art  and  Science  spend  their  days 
and  nights  in  fruitless  efforts  and  harrowing  suspense,  begging  and 
imploring,  at  the  feet  of  inexorable  power,  for  the  means  to  test  their 
inventions  and  bring  them  fairly  before  the  world.  Thus  are  all 
the  great  material  interests  of  mankind  retarded,  embarrassed,  and 
distorted  by  these  selfish,  these  base  and  corrupt  public  servants ;  while 
the  reign  of  the  false,  the  hollow,  the  counterfeit,  the  atrocious  monster, 
Humbug,  is  strengthened  and  perpetuated.  In  short,  as  we  look  down 
deeper  and  deeper  into  this  measureless  abyss  of  commercial  corruption, 
and  scan  more  leisurely  the  elements  which  centre  there,  we  become 
more  and  more  pervaded  with  a  sentiment  of  most  discouraging  despon- 
dency. So  ■firmly  seated  and  well  defended  seem  these  horrible  evils,  so 
deeply  have  they  struck  their  roots  into  the  soil  and  twined  themselves 
about  the  very  heart  of  society,  that  finite  apprehension  can  see  no  limit 
to  their  existence,  and  no  means  for  their  extirpation.  And  were  it  not 
for  that  still  small  voice  of  hope  that  lives  for  ever  in  the  deep  recesses 
of  every  human  heart,  shedding  its  blessed  influence  throughout  the 
being  that  without  it  would  sink  prostrate,  and  let  the  great  bat- 
tle march  on  over  him,  we  should  indeed  despair.  But  that  voice  will 
never  be  silenced,  for  it  is  the  voice  of  God,  pleading  now  and  persuad- 
ing with  most  seductive  eloquence  the  advent  of  the  happy  days  to 


m 


A    TRUE    THEORY    OF    TRADE.  35 

come,  when  mankind,  released  from  these*  soiling  and  disgraceful  gar- 
ments in  which  it  is  now  swathed  and  swaddled,  shall  rise  ** up  in  the 
purity  and  simplicity  of  its  naked  body,  and  fill  all  the  universe  with   , 
anthems  of  love  and  joy. 


-\. 


36  NEW    YORK     NAKED 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE     FASHIONABLE    WORLD ASTOR     PLACE    OPERA-HOUSE — CRITICS     COR- 
NER  A     LOOK    ROUND    THE    HOUSE SOME    PORTRAITS     THAT    WILL    BE 

RECOGNIZED THE    TEETERERS MORE  PORTRAITS THE    VICOMTESSE    DE 

CLAIRVILLE A    LOVE    STORY    OF    SNOBBERY    AND"  THE    STAGE. 

Let  us  bow,  dear  reader,  with  your  permission,  look  in  at  the  opera ; 
and  take  a  glance  at  the  fashionable  world  in  its  highest  state  of  develop- 
ment, and  most  exuberant  bloom.  But  first  let  us  pay  a  tribute  to  our 
dear  departed  old  opera-house  in  Astor  Place — the  only  real  home  out- 
of-doors  ever  possessed  by  our  New  York  aristocracy.  Let  us  go  back  a 
couple  of  years,  and  describe  the  opera  as  it  was,  and  as,  we  fear,  it  will 
not  be  again  in  a  hurry.  The  house  itself,  as  it  was  in  its  palmy  days, 
again  is  before  us.  The  architect  has  succeeded  in  creating  the  only 
theatre  in  the  United  States  which  deserves  the  epithet  "elegant."  He 
is  a  man  not  only  with  ears,  and  of  a  proper  length  too,  but  with  eyes 
also.  While  nicely  smoothing  the  projections  and  rounding  off  the 
corners,  to  prevent  the  delicate  notes  of  the  nightingales  on  the  stage 
from  stubbing  their  toes  and  breaking  their  necks,  before  coming  to  the 
audience,  he  has  artistically  composed  the  fixtures  and  embellishments 
of  the  house  into  a  picture  which  fills  the  eye  with  graceful  forms  and 
charming  contrasts  of  color,  while  the  gem-like  chandelier  sheds  an 
atmosphere  of  voluptuous  lustre  over  all,  like  a  condensed  constellation 
or  a  mile  or  two  of  the  milky  way  squeezed  into  the  circumference  of  a 
lady's  ring.  The  lightest  lapse  of  the  imagination  is  sufficient  to  recall 
the  sparkling  illusions  of  youth,  until  you  deem  yourself  in  a  veritable 
world  of  enchantment.  Then  this  pleasant  place,  filled  with  beautiful 
women,  shedding  around  the  indescribable  but  exquisite  fascination  of 
their  presence — the  faint  and  impalpable  perfumes  that  penetrate  the 
brain,  and  enervate  the  senses  with  a  voluptuous  intoxication — the  low 
murmurs  that  undulate  through  the  air,  the  mingled  flashing  of  eyes  and 
diamonds  that  make  the  bosoms  palpitate  on  which  they  rest — all  blend 


THE  ASTOR  PLACE  OPERA-HOUSE.  31 

their  seductive  influences  to  wrap  the  soul  in  elysium.  And  all  this  is 
beside  the  music — for,  to  tell  the  truth,  to  a  large  proportion  of  the 
audience  the  entr'acte  intervals  are  the  only  pleasant  parts  of  the  per- 
formance— the  squeaking,  screeching  and  drumming  from  the  stage  and 
orchestra,  being  the  long  and  dreary  pauses  in  the  excitement  of  visiting, 
quizzing,  and  flirting,  submitted  to  with  well-bred  yawns,  and  half-choked 
sighs  of  fashionable  resignation. 

Before  we  descend  to  particulars,  we  will  turn  our  atteation  for  a 
moment  to  the  topography  of  the  house,  define  the  boundaries  of  its 
various  cantons,  and  indicate  the  character  of  its  inhabitants.  First  is 
the  parquette,  with  its  easy  and  commodious  chairs  filled  with  a  diversi- 
fied and  medley  mass,  artists,  editors,  and  critics,  with  their  wives,  either 
in  the  extreme  of  undress,  including  blanket-shawl  and  velvet  bonnet,  or 
else  as  extremely  over-dressed,  which,  being  literally  interpreted,  would 
signify  not  dressed  much,  if  any.  A  few  of  the  better  class  of  strangers 
in  town,  with  their  families,  have  taken  places  in  the  parquette,  to  avoid 
observation,  and  the  half  dollar  extra ;  and  in  the  front  seats  near  the 
orchestra,  you  may  see  the  wives  and  sweethearts  of  the  straw-blowers 
and  catgut-scrapers  in  the  orchestra,  or  of  the  subordinate  performers  on 
the  stage.  In  the  middle  of  the  parquette,  on  either  side  the  aisle,  are 
always  more  or  less  of  a  higher  class  of  audience,  who,  from  ill  health, 
idleness,  or  some  other  cause,  do  not  choose  to  enter  into  the  contest  of 
brocade  supremacy  on  the  sofas,  or  to  exhibit  their  breasts  and  shoulders 
beneath  the  gloating  gas-light  of  the  boxes,  and  who  really  are  fond  of 
the  opera  for  itself  alone,  and  take  this  means  of  gratifying  their  taste, 
and  at  the  same  time  avoiding  the  crash,  and  struggle,  and  ostentation, 
of  the  stratum  next  above.  In  the  parquette  are  to  be  found  many  of 
the  warmest  and  surest  friends  of  the  opera,  many  whose  opinions  are 
entitled  to  respect,  and  form  in  reality  the  only  standard  of  musical  criti- 
cism which  exists  in  the  metropolis.  I  have  at  this  moment  in  my  eye 
an  old  gentleman  of  fifty-five  or  sixty,  hale  and  hearty,  with  a  face 
beaming  with  the  fresh  and  childlike  spirit  of  sociality  and  kindness,  to 
which  the  man  of  the  world  at  last  returns,  after  all  the  experiences  and. 
suspicious  bitternesses  and  despondencies  of  middle  life.  The  old  gentle- 
man volunteered  to  tell  me,  the  other  evening,  that  he  had  never  missed 
a  night  at  the  Italian  opera  in  New  York.  He  was  a  constant  attendant 
at  the  opera  when  Malibran  appeared  in  this  country  in  the  early  stages 
of  its  civilization ;  he  was  faithful  in  his  devotions  to  the  Montressor 
troupe ;  he  came  cheerfully  to  the  rescue  when  little  Palmo  broke  his 
back  under  the  burden  of  the  Chambers  street  enterprise.     And  since 


38  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

the  construction  of  the  Astor  Place  opera-house  he  has  never  been  absent 
a  single  night,  rain  or  shine,  subscription  or  extra,  Parodi  or  Patti,  Forti 
or  Benventano.  No  matter  who  nor  what,  he  is  always  there,  always 
seated  in  the  same  chair,  immediately  next  to  the  orchestra,  with  his 
gentle  blue  eyes  and  mild  face  turned  in  enthusiasm  upon  the  perfor- 
mers, and  his  whole  soul  evidently  absorbed  in  the  music's  fascinating 
spell.  Beside  him  stands,  partly  leaning  against  the  railing  of  the 
orchestra,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the  balconies,  a  well-known  fre- 
quenter of  the  opera,  once  a  celebrated  fast  man  among  the  young  roues 
and  nobles  of  England,  now  settled  down  to  a  polite,  well-bred  and 
polished  man  of  the  world.  He  is  in  request  at  the  dinner  tables  of  the 
fashionable  hotels,  welcomed  at  the  soirees  of  the  fashionable  and  the 
literati,  and  altogether  seems  to  be  in  as  fair  a  way  for  the  enjoyment  of 
a  green  old  age  as  any  one  could  desire. 

Distributed,  as  we  have  said,  in  various  parts  of  the  parquette,  are 
those  mysterious  and  all  powerful  beings,  the  critics.  However,  these 
atomic  integers  of  the  great  hydra-headed  phenomenon,  the  Press,  to  a 
certain  extent  obey  the  laws  of  chemical  affinity,  and  are  crystallized  or 
cribbed  together  in  a  kind  of  order,  which  may  be  termed  the  symme- 
try of  higgledy-piggledy.  Across  the  northeast  corner  of  the  parquette 
(all  sharp  and  disagreeable  things  come  from  the  northeast),  a  space, 
about  the  size  of  a  Cincinnati  pig-pen,  has  been  set  apart,  in  which  a 
good  proportion  of  the  entire  drove  of  critics  are  pounded,  furnished 
with  arm-chairs,  just  like  gentlemen,  and  looking  very  much  like  res- 
pectable people,  who  pay  their  debts  and  speculate  in  Wall  street.  They 
appear  altogether  too  comfortable  and  well-fed  for  editors,  critics,  and 
literary  trash  of  that  sort;  but  then,  so  far  as  the  periodical  press  is  con- 
cerned, we  have  changed  all  that  since  the  days  of  Goldsmith,  and  John- 
son, and  Addison.  Our  editors  are  mostly  men  of-  means  and  shrewd 
business  faculties,  who  know  how  to  make  the  most  of  their  places 
and  possessions,  as  well  as  ever  a  shopkeeper  in  Pearl  street.  Most 
of  these  write  for  half  a  dozen  different  papers,  morning,  evening,  week- 
ly, Sunday,  monthly,  and  otherly,  while  their  spare  time  is  occupied  in 
corresponding  with  country  papers,  writing  puffs  for  Genin,  Jarvis, 
Sands,  and  Gouraud,  or  bringing  some  creaking  and  rheumatic  pano- 
rama or  paralytic  peep-show  into  popularity,  at  two  shillings  a  line.  On 
the  whole,  therefore,  they  live  well,  and  are  not  much  more  overworked 
than  an  omnibus  horse ;  while  the  necessity  of  constantly  producing  and 
scraping  together  out  of  their  brains  about  so  much  every  week,  pre- 
■   #  vents  them  ever  making  a  serious  and  sustained  effort  to  see  what  they 


A  LOOK  AROUND  THE  HOUSE.  39 

could  do.  They  are  generally  capital  fellows,  free  from  envy,  malice, 
and  all  imcharitableness,  and  jog  along  together  through  life  without 
those  childish  and  ridiculous  squabbles  so  disgracefully  constant  with 
their  more  dignified  and  pretentious  brethren  in  the  political  department 
of  journalism.  However,  we  shall  postpone  what  we  have  to  say  in 
detail  of  these  gentlemen  until  wc  come  to  our  chapter  upon  the  press, 
in  which  we  will  group  them  all  together. 

And  now  for  a  look  at  the  house.  Let  us  first  take  a  peep  about  the 
precincts  of  the  balcony  sofas  and  boxes  of  the  two  sub-amphitheatre 
strata,  and  we  shall  behold  the  concentrated  essence  of  the  ostentation, 
fashion,  wealth,  beauty,  and  snobbery  of  New  York.  There  are  not  so 
many  pretty  women  here  perhaps,  nor  handsome  men,  as  among  the 
audience  of  the  minor  theatres ;  but  they  are  undeniably  better 
dressed,  more  stylish  in  their  appearance,  and  diffuse  an  air  of  good 
breeding  about  them  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  Most  of  them  have 
received  every  possible  advantage  of  education,  as  we  are  now  in  the 
second  generation  of  our  pedigree,  and  the  leading  members  of  our  aris- 
tocracy are  the  sons  of  the  mechanics,  artisans,  laborers,  and  soap-boil- 
ers who  established  the  race.  They,  therefore,  have  been  delicately  nur- 
tured, and  seem  to  take  by  instinct  to  the  task  of  making  the  best  use 
of  the  fortunes  squeezed  together  by  their  vulgar  progenitors.  Many  of 
them  have  passed  a  considerable  time  in  Europe,  where,  as  the  best  to 
be  had  from  America,  they  have  been  received  into  unquestionable  cir- 
cles of  rank  and  fashion  ;  and,  quick  of  apprehension,  prone  to  imi- 
tation, and  overflowing  with  social  ambition,  as  is  every  son  and  daugh- 
ter of  Yankee-doodledom,  they  could  not  fail  to  acquire,  to  a  certain 
extent,  the  graces  and  the  manners  of  those  with  whom  they  were 
brought  in  contact.  It  is  true  that  they  are  prone  to  the  most  ridiculous 
mistakes,  which  expose  them  at  once  for  what  they  are,  to  thorough-bred 
people  of  fashion  ;  and,  in  consequence,  our  wealthiest  and  most  snob- 
bish families  are  nothing  but  objects  of  ridicule  and  contempt  to 
the  foreigners  of  real  birth  and  breeding  with  whom  they  are  brought 
in  contact.  However,  all  things  considered,  they  are  a  pretty  good  spe- 
cimen of  Yankee  aristocracy,  and  are,  perhaps,  as  sensible,  as  honest,  as 
virtuous,  and  as  chaste,  as  any  other  aristocracy  under  heaven.  Their 
reigning  defect  and  disqualification  is  insolence  and  ill-bred  vulgarity — 
our  true  aristocrat  being  inherently  gentle,  and  thoroughly  despising 
everything  like  insolence  to  his  inferiors  in  station. 

Tjfae  immense  deficiency  of  the  New  York  fashionable  society  is  per- 
ceptible at  a  glance.     It  is  not  in  display,  not  in  accomplishment,  not  m 


40  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

magnificence  of  appointment  and  entertainment,  not  even  in  liberality 
and  a  certain  lavish  expenditure,  which  is  generally,  however,  vulgarly 
overdone  ;  but  it  is  in  the  irremediable  want  of  easy  deference  tc  them- 
selves and  to  others,  which  distinguishes  our  American  society,  or  at  any 
rate  the  more  sumptuous  and  presumptuous  classes  of  it,  on  all  occa- 
sions and  under  all  circumstances.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  however,  that  a  few 
more  generations  will  refine,  purify,  and  enrich  the  blood  of  our  aristo- 
cratic families,  and  endow  a  millionaire,  and  his  wife  and  daughters,  with 
some  approach  to  the  good  breeding  and  gentle  manners  of  an  intelli- 
gent family  in  the  middle  class  of  life.  Not,  however,  until  the 
factitious  importance  at  present  conceded  to  mercantile  pursuits,  and 
the  business  of  making  fortunes  upon  the  capital  of  others,  is  forced 
to  assume  its  own  proper  dimensions,  will  anything  like  a  true  social  dig- 
nity, elegance,  refinement,  and  aristocracy,  ever  prevail  in  this  democra- 
tic metropolis.  The  first  place  in  public  estimation  must  be  occupied  by 
others  than  prosperous  shopkeepers  and  successful  speculators,  before  we 
may  pride  ourselves  upon  a  true  and  creditable  social  aristocracy. 

Among  the  most  conspicuous  and  beautiful  women  in  the  house 
to-night  we  observe  two,  evidently  sisters,  by  their  resemblance  in  style 
and  features,  and  especially  in  the  luxuriance  of  their  shining  black 
ringlets.  They  are  in  the  box  nearest  the  stage,  in  the  second  circle. 
These  are  the  daughters  of  a  distinguished  lawyer  and  man  of  genius  in 
the  capital  of  the  sunny  South.  One  of  them  is  the  fashionable  and 
dashing  wife  of  one  of  our  most  desperate  financial  speculators,  whose 
ups  and  downs  in  the  great  gambling  drama  of  Wall  street  have  ruined 
thousands  and  shaken  heretofore  that  vicinity  to  its  centre.  Not  long- 
since,  he  met  with  a  series  of  reverses,  which,  to  use  a  technical  phrase 
of  the  faro-table,  quite  as  proper  in  Wall  street,  as  in  Park  Place, 
"thoroughly  cleaned  him  out,"  and  the  gravest  suspicions  were  even 
noised  about  respecting  his  non-observance  of  the  conventional  and  easy 
code  of  honor  'that  prevails  in  that  golden  realm.  At  all  events,  he 
manifested  the  possession  of  the  domestic  and  nepotic  affections  in  no 
ordinary  degree ;  for  however  wide  or  deep  might  have  been  the  suffer- 
ings inflicted  upon  his  creditors,  his  family  showed  no  signs  of  the 
misfortune ;  and,  as  was  the  case  with  a  similar  event  occurring  no  later 
than  last  summer,  the  ladies  are  still  as  conspicuous,  as  gay,  and  as 
magnificently  caparisoned  as  in  the  palmiest  days  of  their  husbands'  good 
luck  at  the  cards.  This,  by  the  way,  is  the  usual  condition  of  things 
among  all  gamblers,  who,  whatever  their  reverses,  or  runs  of  bad^luck, 
always  manage  to  live  at  the  best,  dress,  ride,  and  dine,  in  the  most 


A  LOOK  AROUUD  THE  HOUSE.  41 

extravagant  and  sumptuous  manner,  and  keep  their  women  folks  rigged 
out  like  South  American  queens,  in  diamonds,  feathers,  and  expensive 
gewgaws,  worth,  at  least,  fully  as  much  as  themselves.  Whatever  we 
may  be  disposed  to  say  of  the  morality  or  immorality  of  blacklegs  and 
stockgamblers,  we  must  confess  that  they  make  the  very  best  husbands 
in  the  world. 

The  lady  we  are  describing  is  a  woman  partaking  largely  of  the 
matchless  talent  of  the  father,  and  possessing  great  powers  of  fascination, 
both  in  manners  and  conversation.  She  is  deemed  by  the  admirers  of 
that  style  of  thing,  excessively  handsome,  and  is  by  no  means  chary  of 
displaying  her  charms  and  accomplishments  to  the  best  advantage. 
Some  little  time  ago,  her  dinner-parties  were  the  most  piquant  affairs  of 
the  season  ;  and,  by  her  wit  and  fascinations,  she  managed  to  assemble 
around  her  the  cream  of  all  the  desirable  classes  and  professions — artists, 
actors,  men  of  letters,  and  brilliant  conversationists,  together  with  those 
dazzling  and  yet  dangerous  women  of  an  uncertain  class  between  the 
confines  of  close  society  and  the  open  common  of  gay  life.  In  these 
assemblages  enjoyment  was  the  one  sole  aim  and  purpose,  and  it  is 
confessed  by  those  who  were  admitted  to  those  latitudinarian  rites  that 
they  were  everything  intoxicating,  delicious,  and  seductive.  Among  the 
brilliant  and  rather  startling  exhibitions  in  this  circle  were  the 
performances  of  the  elegant  hostess  herself,  who,  apparelled  in  the  gay, 
picturesque,  and  scanty  costume  of  a  peasant  Polonaise,  would,  after  the 
feast  was  over,  and  the  company  had  sought  the  drawing-room,  bound 
like  a  Bayadere  among  them,  and  set  their  hearts  beating,  and  brains 
whirling,  with  the  dizzy  undulations  of  a  dance  that  would  have  brought 
down  the  house  at  Niblo's  and  crazed  all  the  critics  of  the  morning 
papers.  Beside  her,  leans  over  the  railing  of  the  box,  her  sister,  younger, 
and  extremely  piquante — her  delicate  curls  twining  like  tendrils  round 
the  half-transparent  temples,  glowing  like  pomegranates  in  the  sun.  Her 
black  eyes  stream  a  light  clear  across  the  house  ;  and  no  matter  in  what 
direction  you  may  be  looking,  you  cannot  escape  the  sense  of  her 
magnificent  presence  during  the  entire  evening.  If  she  be  but  as  happy 
as  she  looks,  she  must  indeed  be  an  enviable  creature. 

The  box  next  to  this  is  filled  with  over-dressed  and  genuine  shopkeeper- 
looking  women,  who  require  no  particular  mention.  They  are  a 
collection  of  the  common  type  of  New  York  beauty,  over  painted,  over 
dressed,  and  over  supercilious.  Further  along,  beyond  the  crimson- 
curtained  boxes,  we  encounter  several  of  the  most  fashionable  and 
pretentious   of  our  aristocratic   families.     Mr.  De  D occupies  that 


42  NEW   YORE    NAKED. 

box  next  the  curtains,  with  the  ladies  of  a  family  whose  name  goes  back 
to  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  and  was  then  honored  and  trusted.  The 
ladies  are  dressed  in  unimpeachable  taste,  and  their  manner  is  more 
subdued  and  truly  aristocratic  than  that  of  many  whose  pretensions  are 
by  no  means  so  undisputed  to  the  title  of  exclusiveness.  Further  along, 
near  the  middle  of  the  house,  is  a  box  furnished  with  crimson  cushions, 
got  up  at  the  occupant's  own  expense.  The  owner  is  one  of  the 
wealthiest  and  decidedly  the  most  distinguished-looking  man  of  fashion 
in  the  house,  or  in  the  city.  His  wife  is  also  a  very  elegant  looking 
woman,  faultlessly  costumee,  and  whose  coiffure  and  dresses  are  regularly 
imported  from  Paris.  She  is  of  a  family  generally  acknowledged  to  stand 
among  the  front  rank  of  our  aristocracy,  alihough  they  have  not  achieved 
that  position  without  hard  fighting,  and  except  through  a  storm  of 
sneering  ridicule  from  former  associates  and  equals,  who  have  either  not 
been  so  talented  or  so  lucky  as  themselves.  The  pair  are  a  model  of 
conjugal  devotion  and  felicity.  They  are  never  seen  asunder,  not  even 
in  walks  and  rides.  At  Saratoga,  they  parade  the  gravelled  promenade 
at  Marvin's,  lovingly  arm-in-arm,  or  sit  in  their  pleasant  parlor  over- 
looking the  green  and  shady  terraces  of  that  enchanting  spot,  amusing 
themselves  by  both  reading  from  the  same  newspaper,  or  sipping  from 
the  same  sherry-cobbler.  Their  style  is  unquestionable,  their  appearance 
elegant,  and  their  position,  so  far  as  we  may  judge  by  outward  signs,  one 
of  unalloyed  happiness.  The  husband  is  a  man  of  fine  taste  and  liberal 
views,  a  generous  patron  of  the  arts,  and  aider  of  worthy  enterprises. 
He  deserves  his  good  fortune  and  his  charming  wife,  while  she  is  equally 
justifiable  in  being  devoted  to  hiin. 

Our  next  conspicuous  and  fashionable  subject  in  this  upper  circle  is 
that  tall  and  supercilious  looking  woman,  very  thin  and  delicate  in 
person,  and  with  a  nose  decidedly  retrousse.  She  also  had  a  terrible 
struofo-lo  and  a  lono-  fi<rht  before  the  victory  was  won,  and  she  was 
established  as  an  undisputed  member  of  the  haut  ton — and  we  believe 
the  contest  is  even  now  occasionally  renewed.  She  is  not  decidedly  a 
handsome  woman,  yet  there  is  something  about  her  which  inevitably 
makes  you  turn  and  look  at  her  a  second  time,  and  ever  after  causes  you 
to  be  aware,  unconsciously,  of  her  presence  #or  absence  from  the  scene. 
Seated  deferentially  behind  her,  is  an  elderly,  thin  gentleman,  with 
iron-grey  hair,  who  might  very  well  have  been  the  original  of  Douglas 
Jerrold's  "  Mat)  Made  of  Money."  Few  persons  in  the  community  have 
wielded  a  more  powerful  influence  than  he.  In  respect  to  the  credit  o£ 
firms  and  individuals  in  Wall  street,  his  word  to  a  large  class  is  law ; 


SOME    PORTRAITS    THAT   WILL    BE   RECOGNIZED.  43 

"while  now  and  then  the  whole  street  is  made  to  palpitate  through  all  its 
extremes  by  his  movements,  as  if  his  fingers  were  pressing  upon  the  very- 
heart  of  that  anomalous  monster,  the  Stock  Exchange.     All  he  is,  how- 
ever, or  ever  was,  or  ever  can  hope  to  be,  is  by  the  power  of  money. 
With  the  exception  of  that,  few  in  any  class  are  not  as  well  entitled 
to  distinction  as  he.     He  has  just  one  faculty — that  of  making  money; 
and  to  its  development  and  exercise  his  whole  life  and  being  have  been 
faithfully  devoted.     Economy,  abstemiousness,  and  self-denial — the  bases 
of  all  accumulation  of  wealth — he  possesses  in  an  eminent  degree.    Never 
in  all  his  life  has  he  been  known  to  spend  a  sixpence  for  anything  but 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life — that  is,  for  himself.     As  to  the  immense 
amounts  said  to  be  foolishly  and  uselessly  squandered  by  his  wife  in  a 
system  of  ostentation  as  unbecoming  as  it  is  intrinsically  vulgar,  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there.     It  is  said  by  those  who  know  her  best,  that  she 
openly  married  him  for  his  money,  and  that  the  whole  boast  of  her 
virgin  life  was  the  avowed  intention  of  thus  disposing  of  her  charms  and 
fascinations.     Born  in  a  humble  rank,  she  possessed  a  scheming  and  an 
ambitious  heart;  and  having  looked  out  for  her  bargain  and  disjposed 
of  herself  to  the  best  advantage  and  the  highest  bidder,  plainly  and 
above  board,  like  a  sale  of  fancy  stocks,  "  r.  w.,"  shfe  hastened  to  publicly 
announce  the  completion  of  the  transaction,  and  to  give  her  husband 
unequivocal  evidences  of  his  position  and  rights  in  the  premises.    If  they 
find  themselves  mutually  abhorrent  to  each  other,  they  have  nobody  to 
accuse  but  themselves.   But  with  all  this  we  have  nothing  to  do.    Should 
we  institute  an  investigation  into  the  statistics  of  wedded  bliss  among  our 
aristocracy,  God  knows  where  we  might  stop,  or  into  what  fearful  abysses 
of  misery  and  crime  we   might  not  plunge.     Therefore,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  our  grey-haired  financier  and  his  young  wife  are  as  well 
off  in  this  respect  as  many  of  our  neighbors,  we  pass  on  to  the  husband 
himself.  * 

The  head  of  this  aristocratic  and  dashing  -family  followed  the  common 
destiny  of  his  tribe,  and  commenced  life  as  an  errand  boy,  check  collec- 
tor, &c,  &c,  for  a  broker's  den  in  Wall  street ;  and  as  he  kept  steadily 
on,  with  his  eye  fixed  upon  one  point — to  become  rich — and  was  endow- 
ed with  iron  perseverance  and  great  shrewdness,  he  has  long  ago  suc- 
ceeded. But  the  principal  means  by  which  he  and  hundreds  of  our 
money  aristocracy  have  accomplished  this,  if  things  and  actions  bore 
their  right  names,  would  be  called  swindling  and  fraud.  In  a  word,  he 
is  a  leading1  stock  gambler;  and  his  immense  gains  have  chiefly  arisen 
from  buying  and  selling  fancy  stocks,  and  from  other  similar  operations, 


44  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

upon  an  unreal  market,  kept  tip  or  depressed,  as  the  needs  and  objects 
of  himself  and  his  brother-gamblers  required,  or  as  there  were  pigeons 
in  the  market  to  be  plucked. 

Our  readers  who  have  gone  with  us  thus  far  will  not  require  to  be  told 
that,  in  our  opinion,  this  species  of  gambling  is  far  more  dishonorable 
and  disgraceful  than  faro-dealing,  or  thimble-rigging;  and  that  those 
engaged  in  it  are,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  blacklegs,  and  no  more 
entitled  to  pass  for  respectable  citizens  than  the  fancy  sporting  men  and 
flash  covies  about  town,  who  embellish  the  narrow  and  back-breaking 
seats  at  Burton's,  to  have  a  laugh  at  religion  with  Aminidab  Sleek,  or 
garnish  the  orchestra  stalls  at  Wallack's,  to  ogle  Miss  Keene,  and  admire 
the  plump  ankles  and  other  attributes  of  Annie  Lonsdale.  And  yet,  not 
only  do  our  brokers  and  stock  gamblers  pass  for  respectable  citizens,  but 
they  and  their  families  assume  an  air  of  pretentious  arrogance,  elbow 
honest  men  aside,  and  set  up  for  arbiters  and  dictators  of  society ! 

See  yonder  haughty  and  bold-looking  woman,  scanning  the  audience 
with  a  defiant  sweep  of  her  pearl  opera-glass,  and  directing  all  eyes"  upon 
herself  *by  the  queenly  magnificence  of  her  costume  and  jewelry.  Look 
well  at  her,  and  see  if  you  can  detect  in  her  appearance  the  signs  of  one 
of  those  so  much  commiserated  working  girls,  whose  lamentable  condi- 
tion draws  such  sympathetic  floods  of  tears  from  the  ink-stands  of  our 
philanthropic  scribblers.  But  a  few  years  ago,  that  haughty  head,  now 
flaunting  proudly  under  one  of  Martell's  twenty-five  dollar  feathers,  was 
bent  industriously  over  the  miscellaneous  patch-work  that  came  in  her 
way  ;  and  those  dainty  fingers  loaded  with  diamonds,  were  busy  dis- 
charging the  manifold  offices  of  her  father's  humble  household.  But 
now,  not  one  in  all  this  gaudy  and  shallow  crowd  is  or  feels  more 
intensely  the  aristocrat  than  she.  The  capacity  for  luxury  is  the  ruling 
instinct  of  woman's  nature,  bursting  out  into  full  and  perfect  bloom  upon 
the  first  patch  of  prolific  soil,  or  beneath  the  first  ray  of  congenial  sun- 
shine. A  woman  always  becomes  her  riches,  her  fine  clothes,  her  car- 
riage, her  brilliant  drawing-room,  the  fashionable  assemblage,  and  the 
highest  walk  in  Vanity  Fair — as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  compass  them. 
Beside,  our  democratic  empress  knows-  full  well  that  she  is  full  as  good 
as  the  rest — why,  therefore,  should  she  be  afraid  ?  By  the  mere  and 
absolute  force  of  money  and  perseverance,  she  stands  and  moves  at  this 
moment  (though,  it  is  true,  not  without,  now  and  then,  a  fight  for  it)  in 
the  van  of  the  snobby  aristocracy  of  this  snobby  metropolis.  We  could 
write  a  volume  of  homilies  on  this  one  cold-hearted,  trifling  lady ;  but 
mi  bono  ?     She  is  only  one  of  the  ephemera  who  float  for  a  moment 


SOME    PORTKAITS   THAT    WILL   BE   RECOGNIZED.  45 

i 

across  the  broad  beams  of  human  life,  aimless  and  valueless,  save  for  the 
lesson  she  lends  to  those  who  have  the  wit  to  find  it  out  and  the  virtue 
to  profit  by  it. 

Encroaching  upon  the  crimson-curtained  boxes  at  the  other  side,  of  the 
house,  we  stumble  apologizing  past  a  couple  of  boxes  filled  with  portions 
of  the  indiscriminate  crowd,  pretty  and  engaging  enough  in  their  way, 
with  one  of  the  handsomest  and.  best-dressed  members  of  which  the  dis- 
tinguished "  Joe  Sykes"  is  engaged  in  earnest  conversation — lending  for 
a  moment,  by  the  graces  of  his  sprightly  wit  and  high-bred  manners,  an 
air  of  distinction  to  the  entire  box.  But  let  us  rest  our  glass  a  moment 
upon  that  small  and  choleric-looking  gentleman  in  the-  box  nearest  the 
stage.  His  quiet  and  pretty  young  daughter,  modestly  attired  in  black 
silk,  and  with  a  diamond  of  almost  priceless  value  on  her  yet  undeveloped 
bosom,  is  still  too  young  to  have  made  her  appearance  regularly  ticketed 
in  society,  and  only  comes  now  and  then  to  the  Opera  by  pretty  stealth. 
The  father  is  one  of  the  most  devoted  patrons  of  the  Opera,  a  permanent 
subscriber,  stockholder,  and  proprietor  of  the  edifice  itself,  and  not  indis- 
posed to  exercise,  on  all  proper  occasions,  his  opinions  and  his  judgment 
upon  questions  relating  to  the  progress  and  conduct  of  this  aristocratic 
national  amusement.  His  patent  of  nobility  is  of  a  more  ancient  date 
than  those  of  many  of  his  neighbors  and  compeers ;  and,  unaffectedly 
disdainful  and  haughty  in  his  manners,  he  gives  himself  little  concern 
about  his  position,  and  thereby  doubly  confirms  it.  He  is  a  man  of 
education  and  taste,  but  too  unbending  and  ungenial  in  his  temper  to 
obtain  from  life  more  than  about  ten  per  cent,  of  the  enjoyment  of  which 
it  is  capable. 

Dropping  our  glass  perpendicularly  to  the  balcony  sofa,  we  chance 
upon  the  face  and  figure  of  one  of  the  lady  patronesses  of  art  and  litera- 
ture in  her  highly-favored  seat.  Perhaps  you  think  her  a  little  old.  My 
dear  sir,  you  are  entirely  mistaken — she  is  by  no  means  so  old  as  her 
daughter,  who  sits  immediately  next  her,  and  who  has  recently  married 
one  of  the  youngest  and  handsomest  fashionable  young  bloods  about 
town.  Before  our  lady  patroness  went  to  Europe  she  was,  to  be  sure,  a 
little  passee ;  but  a  tour  on  the  continent,  and  a  six  months' residence 
in  Paris  did  wonders,  and  she  came  back  as  fresh  and  rosy  as  a  bride. 
Envious  and  malicious  people  assert  that  she  is  too  positively  white,  and 
technically  read  in  the  dictionary  of  fashion,  very  much  "  assisted ;"  but 
what  that  means  we  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  Our  glass  knows  nothing 
of  it,  and  we  set  it  down  therefore  as  rank  calumny.  And,  by  the  way, 
it  is  astonishing  how  far  this  spirit  of  scandal  will  carry  some  people. 


46  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

We  have  even  been  present  when  ladies  of  notoriously  phalansterian 
habits  and  ideas  have  united  furiously  in  tearing  to  pieces  some  absent 
unfortunate,  who  happened  to  belong  to  a  larger  circle,  or  possessed  a 
more  genial  disposition  than  herself.  Indeed,  the  general  result  of  our 
observations  is,  that  in  fashionable  society  a  woman  who  sins  only 
brilliantly,  falls  beneath  the  envy  rather  than  the  indignation  of  her 
associates.  If  she  could  divest  herself  of  the  eclat,  the  sin  might  pass 
unnoticed. 

By  the  way,  we  heard  the  other  day  of  an  instance  of  feminine  perse- 
verance, tact  and  management  in  the  gratification  of  a  social  ambition, 
which  is  well  worth  the  trouble  of  recording.  A  lady  whose  husband 
had  amassed  considerable  money  in  the  manufacture  of  boots,  and  who 
was  herself  possessed  of  no  ordinary  degree  of  intelligence  and  smartness, 
conceived  that  at  length  the  time  had  arrived  for  carrying  into  execution 
her  long-cherished  plan  of  effecting  an  entrance  into  fashionable  life. 
For  this  purpose  she  secured  the  services  of  a  poor  female  friend,  whose 
position,  however,  was  unquestionable*  among  the  exclusive  families,  who 
in  consideration  of  certain  favors  and  gratuities,  promised  to  exert  her 
influence  in  introducing  her  to  the  approaching  soiree  of  Mrs.  Blank,  of 
Blank  Place.  So  far  did  these  conspirators  against  the  dignity  and 
purity  of  the  fashionable  New  York  escutcheons  carry  their  designs,  that 
the  wife  of  our  friend  the  bootmaker,  was  actually  taken  in  company 
with  her  fashionable  friend,  to  the  blank  mansion,  and  let  up  the  back 
stairs  into  the  retiring  room.  While  here,  however,  the  heart  of  the 
patroness  failed  her;  and,  fearful  of  jeopardizing  her  own  position,  instead 
of  taking  her  protegee  by  the  hand,  and  leading  her  boldly  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  introducing  her  to  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  as  she 
had  promised  to  do,  she  slipped  down  stairs,  made  her  way  quietly  into 
the  parlor,  and  left  her  poor  friend  disconsolate  up  stairs.  After  waiting 
for  an  unreasonable  time  for  her  friend,  our  heroine  went  down  stairs, 
stood  painfully  irresolute  for  a  moment  under  the  glare  of  the  gas-lights, 
undergoing  the  inquisitive  glances  of  the  porters  in  the  hall ;  then,  reen- 
tering her  carriage,  she  found  her  way  home  in  a  furious  passion,  and 
arousing  her  docile  and  contented  husband  from  a  sleep  that  would  have 
done  honor  to  the  innocence  of  Saint  Crispin  himself,  she  swore  with  a 
terrible  lady's  oath  that  she  would  yet  be  at  the  head  of  the  snobs  of 
New  York.  Her  prediction  has  been  fulfilled,  and  her  aspiration  grati- 
fied. Not  three  months  have  passed  by  since  her  palace  in  the  Fifth 
Avenue — for  it  is  indeed  a  palace — was  thrown  open  to  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  guests,  while  as  many  more,  the  biggest  of  whom  would  have 


DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND.  4t 

gone  on  their  knees  for  an  invitation,  and  who  were  among  the  front 
rank  of  those  in  the  circle  where  she  had  been  so  cruelly  slighted,  were 
deliberately  overlooked.  The  party  was  the  festival  of  the  fashionable 
season.  Those  who  were  there  were  somebodies,  and  those  who  were 
not,  were  nobodies ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  among  the  nobodies 
figured  conspicuously  our  quondam  fashionable  friend  and  the  lady 
Blank,  of  Blank  Place.  It  was  a  triumph  hardly  and  fairly  won,  and, 
doubtless,  well  repaid  her  for  the  pains,  and  humiliations,  and  vexations 
it  must  have  cost  her.  She  now  may  consider  herself  fairly  established 
in  the  world,  and  may  ape  on  a  smaller  scale  the  soirees  of  the  charming 
Lady  Blessington — give  levees  to  the  literati,  get  up  desperate  flirtations 
with  the  smaller  toadies  of  obscure  greatness,  and  give  literary  dinners, 
at  which  a  great  many  more  good  things  go  into  the  guests'  mouths 
than  come  out  of  them.  By  perseverance  and  tact  she  has  succeeded  in 
making  herself  the  centre  of  a  circle ;  and  we  have  even  heard  that  one 
of  our  innumerable  great  poets,  of  whom  nobody  ever  heard,  actually 
dedicated  a  volume  of  his  works  to  her.  At  all  events  she  really  has 
brains,  and  a  style  of  beauty  piquante  and  exciting ;  and,  having  imbibed 
a  taste  for  music,  she  attends  the  opera,  not  only  for  the  purpose  of  being 
seen,  but  also  really  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing.  Between  the  acts  she 
receives  numerous  visits,  evidently  from  the  distingue  appearance  of  the 
visitors,  voluntary  ones.  She  treats  them  all. with  the  same  haughty, 
supercilious  politeness,  as  if  she  were  queen,  and  they  her  vassals.  The 
husband  of  this  lady,  whom  one  would  imagine  at  least  Secretary  of 
State,  or  something  of  that  kind,  never  appears  in  public  with  her 
Whether  she  will  not  permit  it,  or  he  is  not  fond  of  society,  we  do  not 
know.  The  probability  is  that  having  been  all  his  life  confined  to  his 
shop,  he  does  not  care  to  go  out.  He  has  not,  like  his  wife,  the  power 
of  keeping  up  gracefully  with  his  changed  fortunes ;  and,  although  now 
a  wealthy  aristocrat,  whose  wife  flaunts  among  the  proudest,  and  sets  the 
laws  of  fashionable  society,  he  is  still  the  humble,  pains-taking  and  con- 
tented shopkeeper  in  bearing  and  aspect.  This  is  almost  invariably  the 
fate  of  the  man-machine  who  digs  and  scrapes  together  the  money  upon 
which  his  wife  and  daughters  cut  a  dash,  and  his  sons  grow  up  "  fast " 
members  of  young  New  York. 

The  history  and  position  of  this  family  furnish  a  striking  illustration 
of  the  democratic  abstractions  about  equality,  and  point  unerringly  to 
the  one  and  only  test  of  one  man's  superiority  to  another.  It  is  not 
blood,  nor  education,  nor  virtue,  it  is  merely  money.  Look  round  this 
brilliant  house  upon  this  fashionable  throng,  and  you  cannot  find  a  soli- 


* 


48  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

tary  exception  to  this  rule.  Those  who  occupy  the  higli  places,  do  so 
solely  because  they  have  money.  Take  that  from  them,  and  they  would 
slide  down  unnoticed,  and  their  footmen  and  chambermaids— so  they 
got  possession  of  the  money — might  take  possession  also  of  their  seats 
and  their  position  without  a  murmur  of  disapprobation.  True,  there  are 
a  few  men  of  real  talent  here ;  but  they  are  mostly  journalists,  critics, 
and  such  trash,  and  are  penned  up  as  we  have  said  in  a  corner,  down 
there  by  the  big  fiddle,  where  not  an  eye  glance  by  any  possibility  ever 
reaches  them.  "  We  had  no  money — we  were  nothing.  They  have  no 
money — they  are  nothing."  Such  is  the  insolent  yet  sagacious  logic 
which  alone  passes  current  among  the  aristocracy  of  New  York. 

Suppose  we  give  you,  by  way  of  variety,  a  specimen  of  the  Opera 
House  dandy  of  New  York  ?  There  are  as  many  kinds  of  dandies  as  of 
crabs,  almonds,  and  Baptists,  namely — hard-shelled  and  soft-shelled. 
The  soft-shelled  are  the  most  numerous  of  the  dandy  tribe,  but  they  are 
so  inevitably  soft,  and  destitute  of  characteristics,  that  they  are  a  very 
unprofitable  theme  for  writing  about,  or  in  fact  for  any  other  purpose, 
save  filling  up  the  chinks  in  a  polka  or  entertaining  the  old  ladies 
in  a  still-life  party.  They  are  very  contemptible,  very  happy,  and 
very  harmless — completely  wrapped  up  in  their  nicely-embroidered 
self-love  and  Avaistcoats,  and  fortunately  insensible  to  the  ridicule  which 
they  never  fail  to  inspire  among  sensible  men,  and  especially  among  sen- 
sible women.  But  the  hard-shelled  dandy  is  a  different  sort  of  ani- 
mal. He  is  a  rare  compound  of  impudence,  vanity,  toadyism,  and  super- 
ciliousness, and,  besides,  he  must  be  possessed  of  no  inconsiderable  share 
of  brains.  We  have  a  fair  specimen  of  this  species  now  under  the  focus 
of  our  glass.  He  is  attired  not  only  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  but 
with  a  certain  bizarre  recklessness,  which,  however  becoming  it  might  be 
in  a  wild  Indian,  or  Cuffee  in  the  cotton-field,  seems  strangely  out  of 
taste  in  that  symposium  of  style  and  taste,  the  Opera  House.  His 
trousers  are  of  the  decided  Boweryish  cut,  and  measure  more  than  the 
full  lawful  sixty  inches  round  the  bottom.  His  coat  is  very  natty  and 
short-waisted,  and  the  innumerable  small  buttons  shine  in  the  gas-light 
as  if  he  had  eyes  breaking  out  all  over  his  body.  He  wears  a  diaphan- 
ous French  embroidered  shirt-bosom,  with  an  immense  pair  of  collars, 
upon  which  each  ear  sits  awkwardly  astride,  like  a  school-boy  on  a  high 
fence.  His  vest  is  extra  long  and  pointed,  and  he  wields  an  opera  glass 
almost  as  large  as  our  own.  But  his  cravat,  that  is  the  crowning  effort 
of  his  genius,  the  characteristic  charm  of  his  appearance.  It  is  as 
red  as  blood;  and  as  he  sits  leaning  6ver  the  white  railing  of  the  balco- 


MORE    PORTRAITS.  49 

ny,  poking  his  glass  into  every  pretty  face  in  the  semi-circle,  his  neck 
seems  as  if  it  had  caught  fire,  and  there  is  a  movement  among  the 
h'hoys  in  the  amphitheatre,  as  if  they  were  about  to  run  for  the  machine. 
However,  they  would  find  that  our  dandy  is  not  easily  put  out. 

Now,  certainly  to  look  at  this  dandy  little  gentleman,  and  observe  the 
airs  he  puts  on,  and  the  intense  satisfaction  beams  in  his  face,  one  would 
imagine  that  he  was  at  the  very  head  of  the  social  fabric  His  his- 
tory will  show  of  what  stuff  the  pretensions  of  our  aristocracy  are 
made.  The  father  of  our  young  Redbreast  is  a  respectable  trades-  , 
man,  and  has  amassed  a  nice  little  sum  from  the  profits  of  his  busi- 
ness. His  son,  Tom,  was  always  a  scapegrace  ;  and  after  ineffectual 
trials  to  reform  and  make  something  of  him,  the  attempt  was  abandoned, 
and  he  was  left  to  shift  for  himself.  We  believe  he  commenced 
the  world  as  a  clerk  in  a  jobbing  house,  but  of  this  we  are  not 
positively  certain.  The  first  of  our  authentic  records  finds  him  keeping 
a  little  cigar  store  in  Broadway,  dispensing  the  fragrant  weed  impar- 
tially to  all  comers,  at  five  for  a  shilling.  We  next  hear  of  him  in  a 
small  dry  goods  store,  where  he  works  all  day  like  a  dog,  and 
cuts  a  tiptop  swell  all  night,  on  two  hundred  dollars  and  under. 
We  heard,  too,  we  believe,  that  he  went  into  business  for  him- 
self, but  shortly  burst  up,  and  was  again  thrown  upon  his  oars. 
The  old  gentleman's  purse,  however,  is  long;  and  when  all  other  inge- 
nious devices  fail  to  raise  the  wind,  the  old  governor  has,  of  course,  as  is 
very  natural  and  proper,  to  bleed.  In  the  face  of  this  well-known  his- 
tory as  to  his  origin  and  character,  the  imperturbable  coolness  of  young 
Redbreast  is  such  that  he  would,  in  any  but  a  plebeian  society  where 
titles  are  not  known,  be  taken  for  a  duke's  son  at  the  very  least.  He  is 
the  terror  of  all  the  poodles  of  his  tribe,  whom  he  never  spares, 
but  slays  remorselessly  with  a  word.  His  wit  is  not  keen,  but  depends 
for  its  effect  upon  a  certain  bluntness  and  discrimination  of  character 
quite  unusual  and  unexpected  in  one  of  his  tribe.  Altogether,  although 
he  is  a  confirmed  dandy  and  coxcomb  himself,  yet  he  is  held  in  great 
dread  by  the  rest  of  the  species;  and  if  he  would  only  take  the 
time  and  trouble  to  go  about  it,  we  have  no  doubt  he  would  exterminate 
the  entire  race — including,  we  devoutly  hope,  himself. 

Do  you  see  that  thin,  nervous,  sanguine-temperamented  man  over 
yonder  on  the  balcony  side  sofa,  sitting  beside  a  fine-looking  woman, 
who  is  evidently  still  the  pet  of  her  lord  and  master.  The  gentleman  is 
quite  aged,  yet  the  enthusiasm  and  self-complacency  of  his  disposition 
have  kept  his  face  almost  unploughed,  and  his  gestures  and  movements       ^ 


50  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

are  as  sprightly  and  youthful  as  his  eldest  son's  would  be,  if  he  had  one 
If  there  ever  was  a  man  fond  of  music — devoted  heart  and  soul  to  the 

opera — it  is  Professor .     Not  only  does  he  attend  regularly  every 

public  peformance,  rain  or  shine,  and  be  the  opera  old  or  new,  subscri- 
bers' night  or  off  night,  extra  night  or  benefit,  but  he  seldom  or  never 
misses  a  day  or  night  rehearsal.  They  say  that  he  has  an  extensive 
practice-chamber — having  long  since  retired  from  the  more  arduous  out- 
door duties  of  his  profession — and 'we  know  that  he  has  a  great  many 
visits  to  make,  and  a  great  many  lectures  to  deliver — so  that  we  cannot 
see  for  the  life  of  us  how  he  is  enabled  to  keep  time  with  all  the  move- 
ments of  Maretzek's  baton.  Yet,  go  when  you  will,  there  he  is,  seated 
in  an  attitude  of  intense  and  restless  attention,  his  little  twinkling  gray 
eye  fixed  firmly  upon  the  performers,  and  his  hand  involuntarily  moving 
in  concert  with  that  of  the  conductor.  He  knows  exactly  when  the  big 
trombone  is  to  come  in,  and  when  the  fagotto  should  have  taken  up  a 
note  it  has  forgot  to.  He  is  evidently  out  of  his  element  in  front  of  the 
house,  but  would  be  perfectly  at  home  behind  the  green  top  of  that 
Jersey  carry-all,  whence  the  prompter  dictates  the  words  to  his  forgetful 

and  obstreperous  crew.     Yes,  if  fate  had  made  Professor a  prime 

tenore,  he  would  have  married  a  prima  donna,  and  of  course  been  an 
enviable  man.     Eh  !  Benedetti  ? 

Of  all  the  legitimate  opera  aristocracy  on  these  sofas  (and  the  illegiti- 
mate ones  too),  our  professor  is  the  only  man  we  can  see.  who  is  really 
entitled  to  the  distinction.  He  has  intellect  and  genius,  with  which  he 
has  cut  and  carved  his  way  (sometimes,  it  is  true,  over  the  dead  bodies 
of  his  patients  and  subjects)  to  a  well-earned  and  lucrative  distinction. 
Supercilious  as  he  is  to  his  inferiors,  he  is  deferential  to  his  superiors, 
well-bred  and  entertaining  to  his  equals,  and  with  a  delicious  lisp  and 
velvet  voice,  which  especially  qualifies  him  for  making  progress  among 
that  sex  with  whom  accomplished  doctors  are  so  great  favorites.  We 
yield  him  our  respect,  not  on  account  of  his  position  nor  his  wealth,  but 
simply  because  he  has  brains ;  and  so  we  kiss  our  baud  to  his  still  ele- 
gant and  attractive  dame,  and  pass  on.* 

And  by  the  way,  speaking  of  handsome  ladies,  we  would  delicately 
venture  a  hint  to  those  luxuriously  developed  young  girls  sitting  imme- 
diately under  the  balcony  side  railings.  They  are  certainly  unconscious 
of  the  beautiful  and  extensive  prospect  enjoyed  by  the  eyes  of  the  young 

♦Those  who  recognize  this  portrait  will  remember,  with  grief,  that  since  it  was  drawn,  the  ori- 
ginal haB  ceased  to  exist.  I  trust  that  his  friends  will  not  think  it  presumptuous  that  I  have 
retained  the-jketch. 


THE    TEETERERS.  51 

gentlemen  who  lean  over  the  railing  talking  to  them.  They  are,  how- 
ever, by  no  means  singular.  All  over  the  house,  and  especially  in  the 
front  boxes  up  stairs,  you  can  see  groups  of  young  men  gathered  behind 
some  audaciously-undressed  beauty,  who  leans  back  in  her  seat,  and 
turns  up  her  face,  for  the  purpose  of  conversing  at  her  ease.  We  are 
determined  that  if  ever  our  daughters  go  to  the  opera,  they  shall  either 
have  a  private  box,  or  wear  high-necked  dresses. 

Those  "  spicily-dressed  women"  on  a  front  sofa,  with  a  very  young 
gentleman  sitting  between  them,  his  head  thatched  with  perfectly 
smooth  and  shining  hair — are  they  not  pretty  ?  One  of  the  ladies  has 
set  off  her  white  neck  and  beautiful  arms  with  a  black  lace  scarf,  and  on 
her  throat  and  down  her  delicate  bust,  gleam  rows  and  roses  of 
diamonds,  glittering  like  the  chandelier,  seen  through  the  little  end  of 
our  opera-glass.  That  very  young  gentleman  is  overwhelmed  with  his 
good  fortune,  and  really  does  not  seem  to  know  what  to  do  with  himself. 
Enviable  doo- ! 

And  by  the  way,  as  they  take  their  seats  (they  have  just  come  in), 
we  observe  that  they  belong  to  that  interesting  class  of  femininities  des- 
cribed by  a  writer  as  "teeterers."  They,  and  the  class  to  which  they 
betang,  deserve  especial  mention,  as  they  are  to  be  seen  not  only  at  the 
opera-house,  but  in  all  other  public  places — in  church,  at  concerts,  in  the 
omnibusses,  on  the  ferry-boats,  in  railroad  cars,  steamboats ;  everywhere 
where  that  pretty  animal — young  lady — is  indigenous  or  exotic,  there 
may  be  seen  the  teeterers.  Physiologists  and  anatomists  have  not  yet,  that 
we  are  aware  of,  discovered  that  the  knees  and  ankles  of  young  ladies 
are  furnished  with  an  extra  pair  of  patent  spiral  spring  muscles,  which 
keeps  them  when  standing  or  moving  about,  continually  on  the  teeter. 
Those  of  our  readers  not  well  versed  in  orthoepical  lore  may  not  know 
what  teetering  is.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  good  old  Anglo-Saxon  word,  and 
the  best  definition  we  can  give  of  it,  is  to  say,  that  when  a  woman 
teeters,  she  makes  motions  as  milch  as  possible  like  those  sand-snipes,  of 
tip-ups,-  found  along  the  shores  of  our  rivers,  and  with  which  every 
sportsman  is  familiar.  Overhaul  your  "Frank  Forester's  Sportsman's 
Manual,"  and  when  found  make  a  note  of.  Let  us  take  aim  now  with 
our  double-barrelled  glass,  and  bring  down  a  couple  of  these  teeterers — a 
class  of  ornithologies  not  laid  down  in  that  most  comprehensive  work  of  the 
most  immortal  biographer  of  birds,  Audubon.  There,  quick !  Look  in 
the  centre  private  box,  yonder  to  the  left.  Here  is  a  bevy  of  full-grown 
teeterers  just  flown  in,  and  making  the  preparatory  teeters  before  alight- 
ing on  the  crimson-cushioned  chairs.     They  are  fine  specimens  of  the 


52  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

bird — full-fed,  full-breasted,  and  of  magnificent  plumage.  As  they  enter 
the  box,  each  of  the  pretty  creatures  stands  still  a  moment,  surveying 
the  house,  and  drinking  in  the  intoxicating  magnetic  effervescence  that 
always  rises  to  the  lips  in  an  agreeable  crowd.  Then  she  gives  a  little 
teeter,  and  moves  half  a  step  forward,  as  if  she  had  trodden  upon  a 
pebble.  Then  the  beautiful  white  silk  opera-cloak  is  thrown  off,  and  the 
Medicean  shoulder,  daintily  dressed  (as  French  cooks  dress  shoulders, 
only  to  make  them  more  piquant  and  exciting)  in  ravishingly  thin  illu- 
sion. Then  another  little  teeter,  and  a  deliciously  helpless  tumble  into 
the  front  seat — another  good  long  teeter,  and  she  sinks  at  last  into  the 
chair.  All  the  others  follow  suit,  and  the  whole  party  are  finally  ranged 
in  order,  ready  to  quiz  their  acquaintances,  criticize  their  neighbors' 
dresses,  ogle  the  beaux,  and  now  and  then,  perhaps,  listen  to  the  music. 

You  think  the  teetering  process,  then,  is  over  ?  You  were  never  more 
mistaken  in  your  life.  In  fact  it  has  but  just  begun.  If  you  will  pay 
attention,  you  will  see  that  the  vertebrae  of  these  young  ladies  are 
furnished  with  the  patent  spiral  spring  muscles,  as  well  as  their  knees 
and  ankles  ;  and  hips  too,  for  ought  we  know  to  the  contrary.  They 
scarcely  set  still  a  single  instant.  If  one  of  them  but  flirt  her  Spanish 
sandal  wood  fan,  she  accompanies  the  movement  with  a  teeter.  If  she 
adjust  that  cloud  of  illusion  clinging  dream-like  about  her  neck  and  pro- 
lonMno;  itself  into  the  blushing  mornino-  of  her  bosom — she  teeters.  When 
one  lovely  arm  wearies  of  holding  the  glass,  and  she  changes  it  to  the 
other  jeweled  hand,  the  pretty  manoeuvre  is  accompanied  by  a  teeter, 
which  she  no  doubt  thinks  still  prettier.  In  short,  as  every  excursion  of 
a  lover  terminates  at  the  dwelling  of  his  beloved,  so  every  movement  of  a 
thorough  going  opera  bird  ends  in  a  teeter. 

The  act  is  down,  and  every  lady  spruces  up  the  bouquet  on  her  bosom 
and  adjusts  her  ringlets  or  her  neck-gear,  for  the  expected  visitations  of 
her  forked  radish  acquaintances.  Beautiful  necks  are  stretched  over  the 
railing  to  see  what  acquaintance  has  left  his  seat,  or  modest  eyes  are  cast 
demurely  down,  assisting  the  ears  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  a  visitor's 
footsteps.  And  now  begins  a  general  teetering.  Sofa  after  sofa,  box 
after  box,  all  seem  as  if  they  had  been  suddenly  smitten  by  the  spell  of 
the  all  potent  genii  of  the  three-legged  stool,  and  set  cantering  ngainst 
their  will,  ^The  game  grows  intensely  exciting,  and  you  begin  to  wonder 
where  it  will  all  end.  In  good  time,  however,  the  curtain  rises,  and  the 
teetering  subsides. 

It  was  for  a  long  time  impossible  for  us  to  get  at  the  clue  of  this 
teetering  business,  and  w-  were  en  the  point  of  giving  the  matter  up  in 


A    MERCHANT    PRINCE.  53 

despair;  when,  happening  one  evening  at  the  house  of  a  literary  lady, 
and  observing  that  all  the  pettieoated  nobodies  in  the  room  made 
extravagant  use  of  the  fashionable  teeter,  while  the  real  celebrities 
present  on  the  occasion  were  as  staid  and  quiet  as  ever, — we  at  length  hit 
upon  the  solution  of  the  mystery.  These  teeterers  are  dying  to  be 
distinguished  in  some  way  from  the  "  common  people."  They  have  not 
brains  enough  to  do  it  by  talking.  It  must,  therefore,  be  effected  in 
some  cheaper  way.  Teetering  is  a  ridiculous  thing — the  sensible  ones 
will  never  think  of  doing  anything  half  so  laughable.  Teetering  will  be 
all  our  own — therefore,  let  us  form  ourselves  into  a  class  and  conjugate 
the  verb  to  teeter  in  all  its  inflections  and  genuflections, — thus  :  I  teeter, 
Thou  teeterest,  She  teeters, — We  teeter,  You  teeter,  Everybody  teeters. 
So  it  turns  out  that  those  who  exhibit  the  greatest  activity  in  their  heels 
are  the  most  deficient  in  their  heads — a  homely  but  most  natural  and 
antithetical  conclusion,  and  one  that  we  advise  a  young  gentleman  to 
think  well  of  before  he  undertakes  to  put  one  of  these  opera  birds  in  his 
game  bag. 

Yonder  on  the  front  sofa,  near  the  middle  of  the  house,  is  a  real 
merchant  prince.  We  have  all  heard  a  great  deal  about  "  merchant 
princes ;"  but  those  who  have  come  in  contact  with  'any  of  the  great 
mass  of  individuals  who  pass  under  this  title  must  have  been  supremely 
disgusted  at  finding  their  magnificent  illusions  so  utterly  destroyed.  Per 
haps  there  does  not  exist  in  the  civilized  world  a  class  of  persons  who, 
generally  speaking,  are  a  more  perfect  antithesis  to  all  our  ideas  of 
"  princes"  than  the  snobs  of  New  York.  Nearly  all  of  them  sprung  from 
not  only  humble  but  low  origin ;  ttiey  retain  all  the  littleness  of  envy, 
the  meanness  of  emulation,  and  the  stinginess  about  money  which  char- 
acterize menials — persons  whose  very  position  precludes  every  idea  of 
honor  and  chivalry,  as  a  necessary  corollary  of  their  profession,  and  for 
the  exercise  of  which  they  would  be  disgraced.  For  the  most  part,  our 
parvenu  aristocracy,  who  live  in  magnificent  houses,  and  whose  families 
ride  in  beautiful  carriages,  glitter  at  the  Opera  and  give  royal  entertain- 
ments, are  of  the  lowest  grade  of  vulgarity — a  vulgarity,  too,  which  is 
incurable  because  it  is  innate,  and  which  displays  itself  despite  their 
wealth,  despite  their  position,  despite  their  exclusive'and  well-sifted  asso- 
ciations, and  despite  their  accomplishments,  at  every  moment.  The 
father  always  appears  sneaking  and  insignificant,  and  would  more  likely 
be  taken  for  a  delinquent  footman  than  for  the  master  of  the  house.  Do 
what  he  will,  he  cannot  forget  the  time  when  he  ran  of  errands,  delivered 
packages,  and  trembled  in  his  well-worn  shoes  when  his  master  conde- 


54  >'EW     YORK    NAKED. 

scended  to  frown  upon  him  or  to  speak  to  him.  He  never  hears  the 
door-bell  ring  without  a  nervous  twitching  of  the  flexors  and  extensors, 
as  if  he  were  about  to  run  and  open  it;  and  if. a  lady  enters,  he  receives 
her  with  an  ah-'of  humble  obsequiousness  and  a  profusion  of  servile 
genuflexions,  which  seem  to  say  in  very  writhe,  "  What  kind  of  article 
will  you  be  pleased  to  look  at  to-day,  madam  ?" 

But  the  mistress  of  the  family  demonstrates  her  vulgarity  in  another, 
though  no  less  unmistakable  manner.  Women  have  no  sense  of  justice 
— at  least  such  women ;  and  they  forget  their  own  low  origin  and  shake 
off  all  its  humilities  and  decorous  sentiments  without  a  twinge  of  remorse, 
the  very  moment  their  means  enable  them  to  do  so.  Go  about  the 
fashionable  shops  of  a  pleasant  morning — visit  a  fashionable  concert,  and 
endeavor  modestly  to  get  a  seat — go  anywhere  among  the  women  of 
whom  we  speak — and  what  do  you  see  ?  Abundance  of  rich  dresses, 
fine  equipages  and  appointments,  truly.  But  at  the  same  time  you  see 
nothing  but  fat  and  coarsely-made  persons,  large  and  strong  hands  and 
feet — hoarse  and  croaking  voices,  giving  utterance  to  the  very  lowest 
species  of  common-place  and  scandal,  in  horrible  grammar  and  worse 
pronunciation.  Yes,  we  ourselves  have  heard  again  and  again  the  awful 
"you  was-es,"  the  "I  done  its,"  the  "  bens,"  and  the  "sawrs"  of  the  stable 
and  the  scullery,  issuing  in  vulgar  tones  from  lips  whose  owners  were 
enveloj^ed  in  the  costliest  brocades,  dazzling  with  diamonds,  and  who 
really  give  laws  to  "fashionable  society."  As  to  the  manners  of  these 
lady  patronesses  of  our  New  York  aristocracy,  they  are  rude  and  insolent 
to  an  extent  that  would  be  laughable  if  it  were  not  so  pitiable.  They 
not  only  are  never  guilty  of  any  of  th6se  graceful  concessions  which  con- 
fer such  innocent  pleasure  upon  both  giver  and  receiver,  and  impart  real 
interest  to  even  the  most  casual  intercourse  of  well-bred  people,  but  they 
will  go  out  of  their  way  to  insult  a  person  not  so  well  dressed  as  them- 
selves, or  to  stare  a  modest  woman  out  of  countenance.  Their  talk  is 
loud  and  boisterous,  and  richly  gimped  and  fringed  with  slang  and 
laughter;  and  it  is  a  general  custom  with  them,  whenever  an  opportu- 
nity offers,  to  jostle  and  push  aside  their  inferiors — with  much  the  same 
feeling,  we  may  suppose,  that  Irish  servant  girls  and  negroes  always  per- 
sist in  taking  the  wall  of  ladies  and  other  white  folks.  We  can  tell  a 
tiptop  fashionable  woman  by  her  swagger,  as  far  as  -a  sailor  can  recog- 
nize a  Dutch  lugger.  In  one  word,  while  in  real  well-bred  society  every 
one  is  solicitous  to  contribute  everything  in  his  power  to  the  convenience 
and  pleasure  of  every  one  else,  our  aristocracy  are  constantly  on  the 
watch  to  detect  some  means  of  annoying  others  and  making  themselves  as 


A    NOBLE    EXCEPTION.  55 

disagreeable  as  insolence,  ignorance,  and  a  total  insensibility  to  ridicule 
can  accomplish.  Such,  we  venture  to  say,  will  not  be  pronounced  by 
those  who  know,  an  overdrawn  picture  of  the  snob-aristocracy  of  New 

York. 

But  there  are  exceptions,  and  distinguished  ones.  If  you  will  look 
there  on  the  front  balcony  seats,  just  at  the  left  of  the  principal  entrance, 
you  will  see  several  members  of  a  family  who  do  not  in  any  degree 
deserve  these  censures,  but  are  really  and  unaffectedly  what  good- 
hearted,  sensible  and  fortunate  people  ought  to  be. 

The  old  gentleman  is  a  fine,  rather  distinguished-looking  person, 
dressed  with  scrupulous  neatness,  and  with  a  strong  predisposition  to 
taste  and  fashion.  In  fact,  we  had  better  admit  at  once  that  he  is 
evidently  conscious  of  his  good  looks,  and  is — to  say  all  in  one  word — 
something  of  a  dandy.  His  appearance,  however,  is  strictly  decorous 
and'  unostentatious  ;  and  he  is  altogether  a  splendid  specimen  of  the 
"  fine  old  Yankee  gentleman." 

The  eldest  son  is  from  thirty-eight  to  forty  years  of  age,  and  is  also 
quite  gray,  and  like  his  three  brothers,  is  a  fair  representative  of  the 
paternal  character.  The  wife  and  daughters,  daughters-in-law  and 
brothers-in-law,  are  all  unexceptionable  and  worthy ;  and  altogether  the 
family  are  a  credit  to  themselves  and  an  honor  to  the  community.  If 
our  "  aristocracy  "  were  composed  of  such  individuals,  we  should  have 
nothing  to  censure. 

Over  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  the  head  of  this  family — an  intelligent 
and  comprehensive  minded  Yankee  from  New  Hampshire — immigrated 
to  this  city  and  commenced  business  in  a  humble  way.  Gradually  he 
proceeded  from  success  to  success,  until  he  at  last  found  himself  at  the 
head  of  an  immense  and  profitable  business,  and  with  a  numerous  and 
interesting  family  of  boys  and  girls  growing  up  about  him,  some  of  them 
just  preparing  to  enter  into  society.  At  this  time  one  of  those  terrible 
financial  choleras  to  wdiich  our  country  is  subject  swept  over  New  York, 
and  the  great  merchant  found  himself  bankrupt.  He  immediately 
wound  up,  paying  sixty  cents  on  the  dollar,  and  getting  a  release  from 
his  creditors.  With  the  courage  and  calmness  of  a  true  man  he  went  to 
work  again  ;  and  in  a  few  years  made  up  his  losses  and  paid  all  his  old 
creditors  every  cent  due  them,  with  interest.  This  gave  him  an  immense 
credit  and  reputation  ;  and  in  a  short  time  the  house  had  more  than 
recovered  its  former  wealth  and  standing,  and  is  now  the  center  of  a 
very  extensive  trade.  Some  time  ago  the  old  gentleman  gave  up  the 
business  entirely  to  his  sons,  and  retired  in  dignified  and  quiet  content- 


56  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

ment.  His  children  are  kind-hearted,  polished  and  unostentatious 
people ;  and  whenever  we  see  any  of  thern,  in  public  or  in  private,  we 
pause  to  thank  them  silently  for  the  refreshing  contrast  they  afford  to 
that  mean  and  groveling  world  of  hatred,  envy  and  despicable  vanity 
amid  which  they  move. 

And  now  for  a  pleasant  look  about  the  house  ;  for  the  audience  is  very 
brilliant,  and  Parodi,  whom  Italy  has  just  begun  to  appreciate,  is  filling 
the  whole  arena  with  a  j^alpitating  excitement  by  her  gigantic  per- 
formance of  the  Lucrezia.  Let  us  commence  at  the  extremity  of  the 
balcony  toward  Eighth  Street.  First,  a  pair  of  calm  classical  faces, 
surmounting,  one  a  white  opera  cloak  with  a  square  little  dainty  French 
collar,  and  the  other  a  bright  garnet-colored  jacket,  so  intense  as  to 
amount  to  a  real  crimson.  They  look  about  very  little,  and  evidently 
came  to  hear  the  music.  Immediately  behind  them  is  seating  herself  a 
fair  and  delicate-colored  blonde,  with  pale  blue  eyes,  plurnp  arms  of  the 
faint  hue  of  summer  roses,  and  head  faultlessly  set  on  and  matchlessly 
set  off  by  a  simple  pearl-white  head-dress  of  chenille. 

On  the  third  row  of  the  balcony,  in  front  of  Commonplace  Area,  are 
two  fine-looking  creatures,  full  of  life  and  spirits,  always  smiling  when 
not  laughing,  and  always  flirting  their  fans  when  there  is  nothing  more 
agreeable  to  flirt  with.  They  are  regular  attendants  at  the  opera,  and 
enjoy  it  evidently  to  the  full,  though  not  very  critically.  Even  should 
they  discover  faults,  they  are  far  too  good-natured  to  take  notice  of 
them. 

In  a  box  half  round  to  the  centre  of  Oblivion  Row  sit  a  very 
distinguished-looking  party.  They  are  the  young  wife  of  a  prosperous 
speculator  in  steamboats  and  a  man  of  wealth  and  fashion — surrounded 
by  her  pretty  sisters  and  relatives,  with  the  handsome  and  happy 
husband,  evidently  in  the  highest  state  of  earthly  beatitude. 

In  the  front  row  of  the  balcony,  rather  nearer  the  stage,  sits  a  small, 
intellectual-looking  man,  with  a  high-spirited,  tastefully-dressed  lady  on 
either  side — his  wife,  probably,  and  sister-in-law.  The  ladies  are  evi- 
dently made  of  the  finer  porcelain  of  humanity's  clay,  and  their  faces 
are  like  fair  lamps  lit  with  pleasant  thoughts. 

On  either  side  of  the  aisle,  nearly  opposite,  are  a  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, the  mother  with  a  perpetual  smile  and  the  daughter  with  all  that 
unconscious  g  .  so  charming  in  infancy  and  girlhood,  and  which  so 

often  bursts  out  into  the  most  buoyant  gaiety  and  wit. 

But  see  that  lady  in  pink,  in  the  extreme  upper  corner  of  the  balcony, 
Astor  Placeward — how  imperially  she  leans  against  the  little  pillar,  and 


THE    VICOMTESSE    DE    CLAIRYILLE.  5T 

sweeps  the  horizon  with  her  glass.  An  arm,  hopeless  of  parallel,  save  in 
its  fellow,  firm  as  ivory  yet  pliant  as  a  lily  stem,  is  clasped  with  a  dainty 
bracelet  in  loving  embrace,  just  where  the  dimpled  wrist  diminishes  into 
the  exquisitely  molded  hand.  -Her  high  brow,  surmounting  one  of 
Lady  Bulwer's  inimitable  noses,  seems  the  pure  tablet  upon  which 
a  world  of  beautiful  dreams  are  ready  to  record  their  pleasant  histories 
twenty  years  from  now,  if  we  could  read  the  page ! 

Carrying  our  glass  toward  the  central  aisle,  we  are  arrested  by  a  group 
of  superb  forms,  robed  in  the  most  exquisite  French  taste,  occupying  the 
whole  of  a  box  in  Oblivion  Row.  They  are  evidently  a  comme  il  faut  . 
party,  carefully  and  expensively  got  up,  and  clearly  altogether  at  home. 
They  aie  not  regular  habituees  of  the  Opera,  and  are  well  worth  finding 
out.  Let  us  enlighten  you.  That  is  the  family  of  Monsieur  le  Compte 
de  Clairville,  who  are  here  for  a  brief  winter  visit  to  one  of  our  real  aris- 
tocratic families,  with  whom  they  made  acquaintance  some  time  ago  in 
Paris.  You  don't  hear  of  these  people  at  the  New  York  Hotel, 
nor  the  Clarendon — and,  beyond  their  own  immediate  circle,  very 
few  people  in  .New  York  know  anything  of  them.  We  will  describe  the 
young  Vicomtesse  de  Clairville,  such  as  we  afterwards  knew  her — a 
sweet  and  perfect  type  of  a  real  woman  of  rank  and  fashion — a 
model  to  be  studied,  a  woman  to  be  loved  and  adored.  Her  form 
had  that  appearance  of  absolute  repose  which  nothing  but  full  and 
vigorous  life  in  relaxation  possesses — for  the  sleep  of  death  is  rigor- 
ous, and  stiff,  and  clammy,  and  the  uneasy  reclining  of  the  inva- 
lid wearies  rather  than  refreshes.  The  careless,  unconscious  aban- 
donment to  rest  of  a  warm,  rosy,  palpitating  form,  flushed  with  the  exu- 
berance of  a  life  it  temporarily  neglects  to  use,  conveys  to  the  mind  the 
only  sense  of  absolute  repose. 

The  form  of  Madame  de  Clairville  may  well  be  selected  as  the  type  of 
both  activity  and  rest.  Round,  plump,  and  elastic,  as  an  infant's,  she 
moves  in  buoyant  undulations,  like  an  embodied  wave — the  reali- 
zation of  the  old  Greek  fable,  Aphrodite  rising  from  the  sea.  She 
is  too  dignified  in  her  calm  and  somewhat  disdainful  mien  to  be 
called  petite,  and  yet  so  infantile  and  graceful  in  her  movements, 
that  she  inspires  I  know  not  what  maguetic  fascination,  and  an 
insane  desire  to  rush  toward  her — to  clasp  her  in  your  arms — to 
eat  her,  in  short — and  it  is  with  difficulty  that  one  highly  susceptible 
to  the  fascination  of  grace  and  motion  refrains  from  committing  some 
mad  indiscretion  when  this  exquisite  vision  first  beams  upon  him. 

Should  you  undertake  to  make  a  catalogue  raisonne  of  the  Vicom- 

4 


58  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

tesse  de  Clairville's  charms,  you  would  not  arrive  at  any  very  apparent 
brilliant  result.  A  soft  and  changeable  rosy  light  spreads  all  over  her 
face,  and  envelopes  her  in  an  atmosphere  that  makes  all  beautiful.  It  is 
the  presence  that  enthralls  you,  and  you  never  dream  of  the  sacri- 
lege of  analysing  in  detail  the  features  of  this  youthful  pythoness, 
who  floats  before  you  in  a  mysterious  cloud,  prophesying  of  joy 
and  hope,  and  love.  But  the  glance  of  her.  calm,  steady,  liquid 
eye,  blue  and  unfathomable  as  the  ocean,  condenses  this  wavering  cloud 
of  radiance,  and  transfixes  you  with  its  resistless  spell.  It  sends  electric 
fire  through  the  heart,  illuminating  the  memory,  making  the  harp  of  life 
vibrate  with  sweet  and  unknown  music.  The  mystery  of  life  and  love 
in  that  glance — latent  to  all  the  world — to  be  revealed,  perhaps,  in  all 
its  wild  and  thrilling  earnestness,  never  to  one  on  earth. 

I  know  not  that  I  have  at  all  succeeded  in  imparting  any  effective  idea 
of  this  extraordinary  being,  or  of  explaining  the  resistless  power  she  exer- 
cises over  all  whom  she  chooses  to  influence.  She  relies  on  no  gorgeous 
dress  to  produce — all  is  as  exquisitely  simple  as  a  Shakspere  sonnet. 
The  stupid  and  the  commonplace  pass  her  by  as  the  Indians  so  long- 
passed  by  the  priceless  golden  sands  of  the  Pacific,  until  knowledge  and 
appreciation  saw  and  seized  them  with  thirsting  avidity.  The  secret  of 
her  power  is  in  that  latent  grace  I  have  attempted  to  describe — the 
power  of  the  hidden  magnetic  currents  in  the  loadstone,  of  the  lightning 
buried  in  its  cloud.  She  is  like  some  magic  flower,  -which  opens  by 
being  gazed  upon,  and  expands  into  immortal  beauty  beneath  those  eyes 
worthy  to  take  in  and  understand  her.  She  is  the  sapphire-pictured 
goblet  of  the  orientals,  in  which  the  beholder  sees  all  that  his  heart  and 
soul  are  capable  of  drinking  in.  There  is  no  standard  by  which  to  mea- 
sure her:  she  rises  with  the  occasion  to  a  supernatural  height.  Fancy, 
imagination,  genius — they  are  her  playthings;  and  if  she  looks  not 
with  disdain  upon  those  who  pride  themselves  upon  the  possession  of 
these  gifts,  it  is  because  her  nature  cannot  be  for.  an  instant  anything 
but  magnanimous.  Her  mental  organization  approaches  prophecy  nearer 
than  genius.  She  is  not  a  poet — she  is  the  muse  of  inspiration 
itself. 

This  bewildering  creature  leans  lightly  against  the  seat  in  the  further 
corner  of  the  box.  A  rose-colored  dress,  cut  plain  and  close,  reveals  tho 
outlines  of  her  form  against  the  dark  maroon  velvet  of  the  couch;  and 
just  where  the  horizon  of  the  rosy  robe  mingles  with  the  velvet  gloom  of 
the  sofa,  lies  the  most  piquant  foot  and  ankle,  encased  in  a  delicately- 
fashioned  gaiter,  rose-colored,  and  of  the  same  material  as  the  dress. 


CONTRASTS.  59 

But  we  have  lingered  too  long  beneath  this  delicious  spell.  Let  us 
resume  our  journey  round  the  house. 

Our  glass  is  arrested  at  this  moment  by  a  most  substantial-looTdng 
member  of  the  opera  aristocracy,  who,  with  his  wife  and  wife's  sister,  has 
come  to  enjoy  the  soothing  influence  of  music — of  which  he  is  extrava- 
gantly fond — after  the  severe  labors  of  the  day,  buying  and  selling 
imaginary  cargoes  of  flour  on  'Change,  and  realizing  his  shilling  per 
barrel  with  no  other  trouble  tmm  making  a  bargain.  However,  he  is 
now  rich,  and  plays  his  part  among  the  aristocracy  with  a  skill  and  grace 
becoming  his  station.  Amid  all  his  innumerable  and  responsible  avoca- 
tions, as  a  merchant  prince,  he  finds  opportunities  during  the  day  of 
being  pretty  constantly  engaged  in  a  series  of  the  most  interesting  per- 
sonal and  philosophical  experiments.  One  of  his  favorite  recreations  is 
to  come  up  softly  behind  an  acquaintance,  stick  his  forefinger  near  his 
cheek,  and  then  suddenly  call  out  his  name.  The  poor  fellow  of  course 
turns  round  quickly,  and  runs  his  nose  or  cheek  sharply  against  his 
friend's  finger — which,  you  must  see  is  exquisitely  funny.  Sometimes 
the  wag  pins  a  handkerchief  to  the  coat-tail  of  one  of  his  acquaintances, 
steals  another's  pocket-handkerchief,  and  drops  bits  of  paper  on  the  hat- 
brim  of  a  third. 

These  arduous  and  exhausting  tasks  of  course  make  our  hero 
thoroughly  worn  out  by  the  time  he  reaches  home,  and  admirably  pre- 
dispose him  for  enjoying  the  chefs  d'oeuvre  of  Donizetti  and  Rossini. 
His  wife  cares  nothing  about  music,  however,  and  only  goes  to  please 
the  fastidious  taste  of  her  husband.  She  is  a  most  excellent  woman,  and 
feels  herself  peculiarly  fortunate,  especially  when  contrasting  her  married 
state  with  that  of  her  sister,  now  happily  a  widow. 
.  The  sister  made  a  grand  mistake  in  estimating  the  character  of  hirn 
she  consented  to  call  her  lord.  He  was  a  decided  swell — a  fast  man- 
cut  a  dash — and  fairly  dazzled  her  usually  cool  and  excellent  judgment. 
Soon  after  his  marriage,  however,  his  real  character  became  too  appa- 
rent. He  rapidly  sunk,  step  by  step,  down  to  the  mere  street  loafer,  and 
finally  enlisted  as  a  common  soldier  in  the  army,  and  went  to  Mexico, 
where  he  died.  On  receipt  of  the  intelligence  of  his  death,  the  respec- 
table brother-in-law,  who  had  been  greatly  scandalized  at  the  fellow's 
doings,  and  esteemed  as  she  deserved  the  excellent  sister  of  his  wife,  could 
not  forbear  exclaiming :  "  "Well,  there's  some  good  news  from  Mexico  at 
last !" 

Look  in  the  balcony,  just  in  front  of  the  middle  boxes,  and  you  may 
see  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  astonishing  results  of  quack  medicine 


( 


60  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

ever  yet  recorded.  The  father  of  that  excessively  dandified  and  aristo- 
cratic youth,  who  holds  his  head  as  if  .he  "  smelt  something/'  was  a  few 
years  ago  as  poor  as  you  or  I.  But  in  a  lucky  hour  he  invented  the 
"  Health  Pills  and  Flummux  Bitters."  One  of  their  most  remarkable 
cures  is  before  you.  The  young  man,  we  doubt,  has  really  worked  him- 
self up  into  the  belief  that  the  purifying  effects  of  the  health  pill  and 
flummux  bitters  have  cleansed  his  blood  of^ll  plebeian  taint,  and  that  he  is 
now  actually  a  full-blooded  aristocrat,  descended  from  William  the  Con- 
querer  and  Pocahontas.  The  modest  and  decidedly  beautiful  woman 
beside  him  is  his  newly-married  wife — and  her  at  least  he  cannot  prize 
too  highly. 

Yonder  light-colored  young  man,  with  a  soft  lymphatic  face,  sprinkled 
with  a  flaxen  moustache,  with  large  hands  and  feet,  ill  fitting  garments, 
and  a  gait  almost  as  shambling  as  a  Yankee  pedlar's,  is  a  fair  specimen 
of  the  dry  goods  business.  He  is  the  brother  of  a  distinguished  auctioneer 
and  a  conspicuous  politician,  and  is  continually  on  the  go,  from  box  to 
box,  and  from  sofa  to  sofa — squeezing  in  here  and  out  there — treading 
on  a  gouty  gentleman's  toes,  and  deranging  an  old  woman's  head-dress 
as  he  bows  an  apology — always  laughing,  always  confused,  and  always 
in  hot  water.  If  he  would  only  keep  quiet,  nobody  would  know  how 
intensely  snobbish  and  vulgar  he  is,  nor  how  deficient  he  is — up  here, 
just  over  the  eyes ! 

In  the  balcony,  just  underneath  the  box  of  the  beautiful  opera  queen, 
sits  our  good-natured  and  fat  friend,  the  prince  of  auctioneers,  who  is  in 
raptures  with  Lorini,  because  he  runs  everything  up  so  easily.  If  he  only 
had  such  a  voice,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  prices  he  could  get  for  the  goods 
he  sells  at  auction !  He  has  evidently  dined  sumptuously,  and  is  in  that 
peculiar  state  of  beatitude  so  well  described  by  the  phrase  "  laying  off." 

Perhaps  among  the  most  conspicuous  objects  in  the  house  is  that 
family  in  the  box  yonder,  consisting  of  the  mother  and  two  or  three 
daughters,  all  of  whom,  however,  but  one,  are  now  married.  The  women 
are  not  beautiful,  but  are  distinguished  in  their  appearance,  dressed  in 
exquisite  taste,  and  in  a  remarkably  quiet  style  for  our  high-colored 
metropolis ;  and  all  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  each  other  in  form 
and  features,  although  the  elder  ones  show  a  decided  tendency  to  embon- 
point. They  are  undeniably  the  most  pretentious,  exclusive,  and  aristo- 
cratic family  in  the  city.  Their  position  originally  was  by  no  means  an 
elevated  one;  but  by  the  sheer  force  of  perseverance,  discretion,  and 
industry,  added  to  an  unyielding  pretensio%  of  manner,  and  a  consider- 
able degree  of  accomplishment  and  positive  Ability,  they  have  succeeded 


*  » \. 


> 


FAMILY    HISTORY.  61 

in  establishing  themselves  as  the  acknowledged  head  of  the  ostentatious 
or  gay  class  of  the  fashionable  world.  It  must  be  confessed  that  some 
of  their  means  and  appliances  are  ludicrous  enough  to  those  who  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  examine  into  the  philosophy  of  society,  or  of  those 
material  distinctions  and  badges  of  title  and  position  which  are  recog- 
nized as  such  in  Europe.  For  instance,  it  was  discovered  that  in  the 
Old  World  the  panels  of  aristocratic  carriages  are  sometimes  decorated 
with  the  coat  of  arms  or  device  of  their  owners.  Our  fashionables, 
determined  not  to  be  behind  the  very  best  aristocracy  going,  have  had 
a  very  beautiful  picture  painted  on  the  side  of  their  carriage  by  a  distin- 
guished artist,  for  which  they  paid  fifty  dollars  in  cash.  It  represents, 
as  well  as  we  can  make  it  out,  a  moose  trying  to  climb  over  a  currant 
bush,  supported  by  a  utensil  strongly  resembling  a  cooper's  adze,  while 
the  quarterings  are  filled  with  ducal  strawberries,  which,  by  some  error 
of  the  artist,  look  very  much  like  thimbles.  It  appears  also  that  some- 
body has  informed  them  that  English  coachmen,  footmen,  &c,  always 
wear  livery ;  accordingly  they  have  enveloped  their  driver  in  an  immense 
drab  snrtout  with  six  capes  and  brass  buttons  as  big  as  breakfast  plates. 
This  coat  he  never  puts  off  in  public,  either  in  summer  or  winter. 
Around  his  hat  is  a  broad  red  band,  carefully  preserved  from  season  to 
season,  and  regularly  transferred  from  the  old  tile  to  the  new.  This 
portentous  costume,  comfortable  enough  certainly  in  cold  weather,  is  as 
inconvenient  in  summer  to  its  sweltering  owner  as  it  is  at  all  times 
laughable  and  ridiculous.  But  it  is  livery.  The  Browns  are  aristocrats. 
Aristocrats  clothe  their  coachmen  in  livery.  Therefore  the  poor  devil  of 
a  driver  must  sweat  and  swelter  from  June  to  September  in  this  prepos- 
terous woollen  casing,  more  horrible  to  endure  and  infinitely  less  elegant 
than  the  celebrated  shirt  of  Nessus. 

The  history  of  the  families  who  founded  the  noble  house  to  whose 
members  we  are  now  paying  our  respects  is  a  real  romance.  Of  the 
fathers,  one  was  a  tailor,  and  for  a  number  of  years  kept  a  little  slop-shop 
and  clothing  store  for  sailors  in  a  side  street  down  town.  The  other  was 
a  worthy  and  respectable  cooper,  who  made  the  neighborhood  merry 
with  his  noisy  hammering,  which,  from  his  natural  fondness  for  music 
and  the  opera,  arranged  itself  involuntarily  into  true  musical  rhythm. 
He  did  not,  however,  prosper  in  this  world's  goods  so  well  as  his  friend  and 
neighbor  the  tailor — people  appearing  to  be  more  in  want  of  breeches 
than  barrels.  He  determined,  therefore,  to  co-operate  with  his  neighbor, 
and  accordingly  formed  a  copartnership  with  him  in  the  tailoring  busi- 
ness, whence  large  'profits  and  cabbages  had  begun  to  Sow  and  grow. 


62  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

Both  being  men  of  great  shrewdness,  tact,  and  economy,  and  worship- 
ping money  as  the  one  only  true  god,  their  gains  rapidly  accumulated, 
and  were  permanently  invested  in  real  estate.  This  of  course  increased, 
in  value  with  the  growth  of  the  city,  until  in  a  few  years  the  partners 
found  themselves  millionaires,  and  their  children,  who  had  intermarried, 
and  formed  other  eligible  associations,  were  ready  to  assume  the  front 
rank  as  members  of  the  aristocracy — a  position  which  they  seem  deter- 
mined to  make  the  most  of;  and  all  the  ladies  say  they  are  very  nice 
and  worthy  people. 

In  process  of  time,  one  of  the  old  gentlemen  died,  leaving,  as  was  con- 
tended, a  will  devolving  the  great  bulk  of  the  estate  upon  the  eldest  chil- 
dren, and  cutting  off  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters  with  a  paltry 
annuity.  Attempts  have  been  made  by  the  younger  children  to  break 
the  will,  and  divide  the  property  equally  among  all  the  heirs ;  but,  after 
long,  exhausting,  and  protracted  litigations,  in  which  the  poor  plaintiffs 
-were  illy  prepared  to  play  their  parts,  they  still  remain  unsuccessful,  and 
it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  final  decision  of  the  courts  will  confirm 
the  present  holders  in  their  possessions,  upon  which  they  now  nourish  so 
extensively  at  the  Opera  and  elsewhere  among  the  fashionable  world — 
thus  virtually  annulling  the  provision  in  our  Constitution  against  the  law 
of  primogeniture,  and  enforcing,  in  effect,  the  hateful  right  of  entail. 

But,  if  the  lucky  children  of  this  family  have  succeeded  in  keeping 
possession  of  all  the  money,  the  younger  branches  have  enjoyed  a  full 
share  of  the  romance.  One  of  the  younger  brothers,  having  a  great 
fondness  for  music  and  the  arts,  and  being  especially  devoted  to  the  dra- 
ma, became  greatly  smitten  at  an  early  age  with  the  charms  and  graces 
of  a  young  actress,  the  daughter  of  a  distinguished  family  of  artists, 
and  who,  born  and  bred  on  the  stage  of  the  old  Park  Theatre,  had  made 
a  brilliant  and  successful  debut  in  her  profession,  and  was  universally 
booked  in  public  estimation  for  an  unlimited  and  splendid  success 
However,  the  little  god  tipped  his  dart,  and  with  a  twang  away 
it  flew  into  the  susceptible  heart  of  the  young  actress,  who,  daz- 
zled by  the  aristocratic  name  and  devoted  attentions  of  her  lover, 
formed  the  determination  of  resigning  abruptly  her  just  commenced 
and  brilliant  public  career,  and  retiring  to  the  elegant  privacy  ol 
domestic  life.  When  the  young  gentleman's  penchant  was  made  known 
to  his  aristocratic  family,  they  greeted  it  with  a  groan  of  horror 
and  a  fierce  cry  of  indignation.  What!  a  son  of  the  Browns,  whose 
father  mended  breeches,  to  marry  an  actress,  whose  family  only 
bawled  Shakspeare  ?     Why,  'twas  enormous,  'twas  a  humiliation,  a  dis- 


FAMILY    PRIDE.  63 

grace,  a  degradation,  an  odium  that  would  for  ever  rest  upon  the  very- 
name  of  Brown,  and  which  could  only  be  contemplated  with  hor- 
ror. However,  finding  that  the  young  lover  did  not  participate  in  these 
sentiments,  and  that,  although  of  a  mild  and  yielding  disposition,  he 
adhered  stoutly  and  manfully  to  the  dictates  of  his  heart  and  the 
teachings  of  his  affection,  they  tried  the  force  of  threats  and  denuncia- 
tions— swore  they  would  excommunicate  him  from  the  family,  would 
never  tolerate  nor  recognize  his  wife,  nor  permit  him  again  to  claim  com- 
panionship or  protection  from  them.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  The  infa- 
tuated young  man  chose  rather  the  love  and  devotion  of  the  woman  of 
genius  and  the  artist  who  had  enthralled  him,  than  the  heartless  favor 
and  hollow  affection  of  his  selfish  and  hard- hearted  relatives. 

The  best  part  of  the  joke,  however,  was,  that  the  mother  of  our  act- 
ress, herself  also  an  actress,  and  a  distinguished  ornament  of  the  stage 
for  many  years,  took  the  thing  quite  as  hardly  as  her  indignant  friends, 
the  Browns.  Upon  being  informed  of  her  daughter's  engagement,  she 
indignantly  refused  her  consent  to  any  such  ignoble  alliance  for  her  gift- 
ed and  brilliant  daughter,  exclaimed  against  the  vulgar  aspirations  of 
these  shopkeeping  aristocracy,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  call  upon  the 
mother  of  our  hero  in  high  state  and  full  feather,  and  warn  her  by  all 
the  fears  of  an  outraged  mother's  vengeance,  to  keep  her  son  at  home, 
and  prevent  the  consummation  of  so  disgraceful  an  intermingling  of  the 
blood  of  genius  and  talent  with  the  base-born  muddy  current  oozing  from 
a  tailor's  cabbage  patch.  It  was  all  in  vain.  The  lovers  sighed 
and  laughed  by  turns,  and,  at  length  taking  advantage  of  that  free- 
dom which  is  secured  to  every  son  and  daughter  of  Adam  by  our  glorious 
Constitution,  fairly  gave  their  indignant  mamas  the  slip,  and  entered  into 
the  silken  noose  of  Hymen.  Nor,  we  faithfully  believe,  have  they  ever 
for  one  moment  repented  their  determination  ;  although  the  step  they 
took  has  alienated  them  effectually  from  their  friends,  and  cut  off  the  one 
from  that  social  position  to  which  he  was  entitled,  and  stopped  the  other  in 
her  brilliant  and  ambitious  career,  yet  are  they  apparently  richly  com- 
pensated for  all  in  the  continued  and  unswerving  devotion  and  affection 
they  feel  and  act  toward  each  other.  Their  lives  are  a  practical  and 
beautiful  abnegation  of  the  old  and  slanderous  line — 

"  The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." 

It  is  true,  I  have  sometimes,  while  watching  the  calm,  impassive  face 

■.  f  the  lady,  thought  I  could  perceive,  in  the  depths  of  her  serenity  and  the 

bstraction  of  her  manner,  traces  of  smothered  aspirations  and  scarce  con- 


64  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

quered  regrets  for  the  flattering  position  she  had  lost  and  the  glorious 
career  she  had  abandoned ;  but  upon  looking  again  I  have  become  satis- 
fied that  such  ideas  originated  in  my  own  imagination,  and  were  not 
shared  by  her.  It  is  a  case  as  remarkable  as  it  is  romantic  and  interest- 
ing ;  and  were  its  details  fully  recited  and  drawn  up  by  the  pen  of  tire 
novelist,  it  would  create  one  of  the  most  splendid  works  of  fiction,  found- 
ed upon  life  and  reality,  extant  in  our  literature. 

Until  the  last  season,  conspicuous  among  the  conspicuous — seated  year 
after  year  in  the  same  sofa — always  "  going  in  "  for  five  year  subscrip- 
tions and  half  dollar  allowances — and  always,  whether  rain  or  shine,  in 
their  places,  reposed  in  conscious  dignity,  the  head  and  branches  of  ano- 
ther of  our  "  first  families."  The  hope  and  heir  of  the  house  is  a  juve- 
nile, but  exceedingly  characteristic  specimen  of  the  animal  known  in 
fashionable  phraseology  as  a  "  duck."  He  is  a  lathy,  lanky,  cadaverous- 
looking,  young  man,  whom  incessant  attempts  to  smoke  segars  that  made 
him  sea-sick,  and  gulp  down  whisky-skins  that  turned  his  stomach,  have 
bleached  to  the  faintest  and  most  woe-begone  shadow  of  fresh  and  vigor- 
ous youth.  The  internal  soil  of  his  brain — not  very  deep  nor  rich  at 
best,  and  entirely  exhausted  by  the  heavy  crop  of  hempen  it  has  been 
called  upon  to  produce,  has  long  since  refused  to  grow  the  first  blade  of 
an  idea ;  and  the  consequence  is,  lack-lustre  expression  of  the  dissipated 
eyes,  and  a  flabbiness  of  the  nerveless  mouth,  truly  pitiable  to  behold. 
This  poor  youth,  whom  we  use  as  the  type  of  a  large  and  disgusting 
class,  the  riches  of  whose  whole  lives  are  squandered  ere  they  have  yet 
crossed  the  threshold,  is  an  object  rather  of  commiseration  than  ridi- 
cule, and,  were  it  not  for  the  necessity  of  making  an  example  for  the 
benefit  of  the  race,  we  would  let  him  pass  in  silence. 

The  costume  of  one  of  these  young  sprouts  of  our  soss  aristocracy 
would  of  itself  sufficiently  indicate  the  idealess  chaos  yof  the  owner's 
brain.  Buried  to  the  ears  in  a  standing  shirt  collar,  his  little  round  head 
rests  in  a  gigantic  Joinville  bow,  like  the  top  of  a  footman's  carriage  tas- 
sel. His  thin  legs  are  inserted  in  a  pair  of  pantaloons,  whose  waistband 
is  so  low,  and  whose  fit  so  vulgar,  that  one  undergoes  a  constant  premo- 
nitory disgust  lest  they  should  slip  off.  His  coat  is  of  the  nattiest  and 
tightest  London  flashman  cut,  and  his  gloves,  with  his  vulgar  hands 
stuffed  into  them,  look  like  two  bunches  of  white  kid  sausages.  But  to 
form  a  complete  idea  of  his  costume,  you  should  see  him  in  Broadway, 
with  that  straight  English  sack,  the  bag  sleeves  hanging  below  the  tips 
of  his  fingers — his  head  supporting  a  pyramid  chimney-pot  hat,  and  his 
toes  turned  in  as  he  walks,  like  those  of  a  wild  Indian  on  a  trail.   Under 


PRESERVING   THE    "  ANTECEDENTS."  65 

his  arm  lie  carries  a  little  yellow  cane,  with  the  head  made  in  the  like- 
ness of  a  horse's  hoof  and  foreleg  in  ivory,  stuck  in  the  side  pocket  of 
his  coat.  Thus  tricked  out,  he  is  a  sight  to  behold ;  and  wherever  he 
appears,  a  smile  of  quiet  contempt  and  a  sympathethic  shrug  of  pity 
passes  round  the  circle.  However,  his  sublime  self-complacency  is  an 
abundant  shield  for  that  and  all  the  other  rebuffs  to  which  he  is  liable  ; 
and,  beside,  he  is  well  received  by  the  ladies,  young  and  old,  everywhere. 
The  old  gentleman  has  money.     Q.  E.  D. 

The  old  gentleman  evidently  enjoys,  to  the  full  capacity  of  his  nature, 
the  otium  cum  dignitate  of  his  wealth  and  position.  But  a  few  years 
ago  this  liberal,  enlightened,  and  worthy  citizen  was  a  small  dealer  in  dead 
hogs,  which  he  used  to  buy  in  the  carcass,  and  cut  up  at  his  own  door, 
while  his  prudent  helpmate  was  carrying  on  a  cheap  boarding-house  up 
stairs.  By  prudence,  industry  and  economy,  the  gains  of  pork  and  sau- 
sages accumulated  year  after  year,  until  the  huckster  became  the  whole- 
sale dealer  and  adventurous  speculator,  while  the  boarding-house  expand- 
ed into  the  aristocratic  mansion  "  above  Bleecker  " — the  rolling-pin  was 
exchanged  for  the  piano,  and  magnificent  weekly  entertainments  almost 
made  the  whole  family  forget  that  all  their  greatness  is  derived  from  a 
long  line  of  illustrious  dead  hogs. 

We  trust  that  no  one  will  so  far  mistake  us  as  to  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  we  mean  to  cast  contempt  upon  the  humble  origin  of  the  New 
York  aristocracy.  Far  from  it.  None  has  a  more  appreciative  admira- 
tion of  the  industry  by  which  these  individuals  have  risen  from  the 
obscurity  of  the  bench  and  the  shop-board  to  the  lofty  positions  they 
occupy  on  the  sofas  of  the  Opera  House,  than  ourselves.  But  as  it  is 
evident  that  a  real  aristocracy  is  about  crystallizing,  we  have  accepted, 
in  the  absence  of  a  regular  Herald's  College,  the  task  of  collecting  and 
preserving,  in  a  durable  form,  the  "antecedents"  of  the  illustrious  indi- 
viduals who  compose  it.  In  discharging  this  duty,  we  are  guided 
alone  by  accuracy  and  impartiality ;  and  should  we  inadvertently  make 
any  mistakes  or  omissions,  we  shall  be  very  glad  to  correct  them  in  our 
next  edition,  upon  a  proper  presentation  of  the  facts. 

The  family  to  whom  we  have  been  paying  our  respects  stands  deserv- 
edly high  among  the  members  of  our  Astor-ocracy,  and  its  distinguished 
head  i3  as  remarkable  for  the  goodness  of  his  heart  as  the  badness  of 
his  orthoepy.  His  use  of  money  is  as  judicious  as  his  use  of  words  is 
unfortunate.  To  look  at  the  appointments  of  his  house  and  family,  you 
would  conclude  that  he  was  a  man  of  distinguished  taste — to  hear  him 
speak,  you  would  inevitably  take  him  for  a  fool.     The  truth,  however,  is, 


66 


NEW  YORK   NAK2D. 


that  he  is  neither  one  nor  the  other.  Had  he  attended  to  the  lining  of 
his  head  as  assiduously  as  that  of  his  pocket,  he  might  have  been  a 
savan  ;  but  the  golden  texture  of  riches,  unlike  the  Schneiderian  mem- 
brane, ie  sufficient  for  only  one  cavity  at  onoe. 


SUCCESSFUL    PERSEVERANCE.  6t 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE    OPERA,  CONTINUED AN    EDITOR   AND    HIS    WIFE A  LITTLE    SCANDAL 

CATALOGUE    RAISONNEE    OF    FASHIONABLE    SOCIETY REFLECTIONS. 

Do  you  see  in  that  back  private  box,  of  the  second  tier,  a  magnificently 
dressed  woman  seated  beside  a  tall,  silver  gray-headed  gentleman,  with, 
a  dignified  quiet  air,  and  a  very  conspicuous  squint  ?  A  young  gentle- 
man, embedded  in  moustache  and  whisker,  is  behind  them,  scanning  the 
house  through  his  glass,  and  occasionally  saying  a  word  or  two  to  the 
lady,  who  replies  with  a  haughty  and  indifferent  air.  These  two  people 
first  mentioned  are  worth  our  especial  attention. 

When  a  man  of  mere  wit  or  talent,  who  has  forced  his  way  from 
obscurity  to  celebrity  or  notoriety — and,  in  good  truth,  the  terms  are, 
now-a-days,  synonymous — by  the  force  of  what  he  has  said  or  written, 
and  not  of  what  he  has  bought  and  sold,  he  deserves  a  passing  notice  at 
our  hand.  The  "  antecedents,"  as  well  as  the  present  surroundings  and 
belongings  of  such  a  man,  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting.  In  this  world, 
and  especially  in  this  city,  every  pretension  to  distinction  of  any  kind  is 
supposed,  of  course,  to  originate  from  the  money-bag,  and  is  strictly 
measured  by  the  yard-stick.  Beyond  the  counting-house  and  the  broker's 
den  there  can  be  nothing  enviable,  nothing  worth  exploring.  The  world 
has  but  one  gate,  and  that  is  a  golden  one.  Its  cards  of  ceremony  are 
drafts  and  acceptances,  its  invitations  are  bank  bills.  Whoever  enters 
into  this  charmed  circle,  except  in  the  "  regular  way,"  must  have  had 
about  the  tallest  job  at  climbing  that  has  been  recorded  since  David 
Crockett  found  himself  up  a  girdled  tree.  Even  then,  the  fight  is  by  no 
means  over,  but  must  be  prolonged  inch  by  inch  and  step  by  step.  It  is 
perfectly  natural  that  those  in  possession  should  look  scowlingly  upon 
the  clandestine  interlopers,  and  should  watch  their  opportunity  for 
unceremoniously  ejecting  them. 

The  persons  now  under  the  focus  of  our  lens  are  conspicuous  speci- 
mens of  what  we  have  been  saying.  In  the  face  of  the  united  jeers  and 
clamor  of  snobdom  itself,  and  the  curses  and  envious  denunciations  of  hia 


68  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

to 

cotemporaries,  here  is  an  editor  who,  having  set  his  ambition  firmly  upon 
one  point,  of  attaining,  through  his  influence  as  a  journalist,  social  dis- 
tinction for  himself  and  his  family,  has  patiently  persevered,  amid  such 
obstacles  as  must  have  dismayed,  crushed,  and  overwhelmed  any  but  a 
man  of  iron  nerve  and  indomitable  perseverance.  Yet  we  must  admit 
that  he  has  succeeded;  and  we  say  this,  not  from  any  love  for  the  sub- 
ject of  our  sketch,  but  from  a  devilish  and  malicious  pleasure  we  feel  in 
cramming  this  bitter,  truth  down  the  throats  of  the  vain,  shallow,  igno- 
rant, and  insolent  upstarts  who  presume  to  set  themselves  up  as  the 
standards  of  "good  society"  and  the  dispensers  of  its  worthless  favors. 
Yes — we  repeat  it  to  you,  messieurs  rag-sellers  and  stock-gamblers,  booby 
children  of  lucky  tailors  and  coopers,  hatters  and  sausage-makers,  who 
swell  and  dash,  and  rattle  about  as  if  the  world  were  made  for  vou  alone, 
that  this  gaunt  and  solemn-looking  scribbler  has  more  influence  in  the 
wave  of  his  goose-quill  than  your  whole  tribe  put  together.  His  wife, 
too,  spends  more  money  than  you  dare  ask  of  your  stingy  husbands — 
wears  richer  dresses  and  more  expensive  jewelry — cuts  a  greater  dash 
altogether,  attracts  ten  times  the  sum  of  that  eclat  and  attention,  for 
which  you  are  all  dying,  than  any  of  you  ever  dared  aspire  to. 

This  scribbler,  too,  and  his  saucy  wife,  have  been  abroad  and  visited 
the  leading  cities  of  Europe — and  they  have  been  received  with  distin- 
guished honor  at  ambassadorial  dinners,  ministerial  soirees,  and  even 
royal  levees  themselves.  And  no  longer  ago  than  the  past  winter,  they 
visited  the  beautiful  and  aristocratic  queen  of  the  Western  Archipelago ; 
where  they  were  received  by  the  haughtiest  and  most  exclusive  race  of 
aristocrats  of  this  breathing  world,  with  little  less  than  royal  honors  and 
attentions.  Fetes  and  festivals  signalized  their  coming;  and  their  whole 
stay  in  this  delightful  region  was  one  uninterrupted  and  joyous  jubilee. 
Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bobus,  with  the  immense  Spanish  fan,  which  you  do 
not  know  how  to  even  open  properly,  and  the  big  bouquet,  almost  as  red 
and  vulgar  as  your  own  face — this  mere  editor  and  his  wife  have  been 
received  and  courted  in  circles  where  you  and  your  money,  and  your 
"family  influence,"  and  all  the  introductions  and  bills  of  credit  which 
your  husbands  could  cram  into  their  portfolios,  would  not  receive  even 
the  courtesy  of  a  look — would,  in  fact,  never  penetrate  beyond  the  por- 
ter's lodge,  or  the  ante-room.  This  we  assure  you  of,  oh,  Bobus,  for  your 
especial  comfort  and  gratification — not  our  own.  You  may  laugh,  and 
sneer,  and  wriggle,  and  teeter  about  on  your  patent-spring  upholstery  as 
much  as  you  please,  but  you  cannot  alter  this  fact  The  scribbler,  the 
journalist,  the  editor  whom  nobody  knows,  aud  the  stylish  equipage  of 


A     LITTLE     SCANDAL.  69 

whose  Di  Vernon-ish  wife  you  affect  to  ignore  in  Broadway,  is  the  mas- 
ter of  you  all,  and  his  pen  is  the  scourge  with  which  he  drives  you  all 
before  him.  Your  husbands  cower  in  their  caves  at  the  reverberations 
of  his  patent-revolving  press,  and  tremble  in  their  boots  if  he  but  glance 
his  not  very  tender  eyes  toward  them.  Bank-stock  and  insurance-office 
swindlers,  who  live  in  lordly  luxury  by  systematic  frauds  that  would  dis- 
grace the  club-houses  of  old  Park  Row,  go  about  in  constant  dread  of 
him,  and  pay  adulation,  and  go  down  on  their  knees,  and  even  write 
checks  in  his  favor — begging,  like  poor  Faust,  for  a  little  "time"  before 
being  brought  to  a  settlement  of  their  accounts  with  society.  So  that  our 
once  poor  and  despised  scribbler,  who  lived  up  four  pair  of  stairs  in  a 
back  attic  (which  was  just  three  pair  more  of  stairs  than  he  possessed 
of  breeches)  and  dined  humbly  on  cheese  and  garlic,  is  now,  in  very 
truth,  the  autocrat  of  all  your  "  good  society"  and  "  exclusive"  sets,  and 
"  first  families."  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  We  can't  help  laughing,  Messieurs 
Bobus  and  Company,  at  such  a  good  joke — although  perhaps  you  don't 
see  the  point  of  it ! 

But  the  funniest  part  of  the  business  is  that  the  cotemporaries  of  this 
man  and  his  paper,  all  affect  the  utmost  horror  of  him,  and  denounce 
him  on  every  occasion  as  a  monster,  an  ogre,  and  for  aught  we  know,  a 
ghoul,  who  preys  upon  the  dead  carcasses  of  newspapers  that  have  died 
in  his  time  (and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  times  have  been  rather 
sickly  for  several  years'  past !)  and  yet  there  is  not  one  of  these  editors 
who  does  not  practice  on  a  small  and  mean  scale  the  very  things  our 
"  satanic"  friend  is  charged  with  on  a  grand  and  satanic  scale.  Let  an 
artist,  a  painter,  a  musician,  or  actor  of  the  most  unquestioned  genius, 

come  to  New  York,  and  not  patronize  the ,  for  instance,  do  you 

think  the would  applaud  his  performances?     Let   a   reformer 

appear,  advocating  the  same  doctrines,  and  exposing  the  same  abuses 
upon  which  that  paper  gains  its  notoriety  and  profits,  should  he  not 
happen  to  belong  to  the  editor's  personal  clique  of  adherents  and  toadies, 

the would  never  condescend  to  hear  of  his  existence.     Take  a 

new  invention  in  science  or  mechanics  to  the  editor  for  his  examination, 
and  you  will  be  sent  to  the  desk  to  arrange  with  the  advertising  clerk 
for  a  notice.  Carry  to  the  office  an  article  stating  in  express  terms  that 
Snooks'  renovating  hair  dye  absolutely  possesses  the  power  of  filling  a 
mattress-tick  with  first-rate  curled  hair  by  a  single  application,  and 
besides  is  a  certain  specific  for  fleas,  the  corns  and  fever-and-ague,  and 
you  can  have  it  published  editorially,  without  any  qualification  or 
reservation  whatever— -fair  two  shillings  a  line  /    And  so  of  monied  insti- 


*10  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

tutions,  rat-traps  and  quack  medicines,  kickshaws  and  theology — thai 
•which  pays  is  puffed ;  that  which  don't  pay  is  either  denounced  or 
treated  with  silence.  And  this  is  by  no  means  true  of  one  paper 
alone,  but  of  nearly  every  newspaper  in  the  city  of  New  York.  The 
principle,  the  only  principle,  upon  which  journalism  is  conducted  at  the 
present  moment  in  New  York,  from  the  "responsible"  editor  to  the 
penny-a-line  picker-up  of  horrible  accidents,  and  the  water-rat  of  the 
police  office,  is  that  of  pay  for  services  rendered.  And  the  Great  Horned 
Devil,  who  is  the  patron  saint  and  tutelary  divinity  of  editors  and  the 
press  generally,  laughs  and  chuckles  in  his  sleeve,  when  he  sees  these  sly 
and  cunning  artful  dodgers  quietly  picking  the  pockets  of  the  commu- 
nity, while  raising  the  hue  and  cry  against  the  magnanimous  Dick 
Turpin  of  the  profession. 

But  we  beg  your  pardon,  handsome  and  witty  madam  ;  your  husband's 
affairs  have  detained  us  too  long,  and  the  curtain  is  absolutely  rising. 
Yes,  Ave  accept  your  charming  invitation  to  that  petite  souper ;  and 
meanwhile,  Signora  mia,  baccio  la  mano,  e  reverderci  ! 

We  are  now  going  to  indulge  you,  gentle  reader,  in  a  little  genuine 
scandal,  at  the  expense  of  our  comfortable-looking  friend  over  yonder, 
the  Chinese  Mandarin.  We  won't  be  ill-natured,  however,  and  therefore 
we  guess  there  will  be  nobody  hurt. 

The  gentleman  whom  we  have  at  this  moment  under  inspection,  com- 
menced life  humbly — very  humbly — so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  the  muse 
refuses  to  trace  the  stream  of  his  pedigree  to  its  source.  By  some  lucky 
chance,  or  rather  the  promptings  of  the  instinct  of  money-making,  at  an 
early  part  of  his  career  he  stumbled  into  the  china  business,  which  in  a 
few  years  began  to  turn  everything  within  its  influence  to  gold,  and  he 
now,  at  full  mid  age,  supports  an  elegant  establishment,  and  makes  all 
the  necessary  motions  to  pass  himself  off  as  a  real  first  rate  nabob.*  His 
domestic  history  is  a  curious  one. 

Some  years  ago  he  engaged  himself  to  a  young  lady  of  New  York — 
whom,  however,  upon  reconsidering  matters,  when  the  time  came  round 
to  fulfill  his  contract,  he  concluded  to  abandon;  and,  being  a  man  of 
strict  business  habits  and  undoubted  mercantile  honor,  he  commenced  a 
formal  negotiation  for  this  purpose.  With  the  details  of  the  transaction 
we  are  not  familiar ;  but  the  result  of  it  was  such  as  to  do  credit  to  his 
liberality  and  business  tact.     The  young  lady  with  the  broken  heart, 

*  Rumor  says  that  he  went  to  China  with  some  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  made  in  South 
America,  and  returned  from  the  Celestial  Empire  with  sixteen  hundred  thousand  dollar*  In  spooio 
— no  more — no  less. 


A    NABOB    MANDARIN.  fl 

received  the  handsome  sura  of  860,000,  cash  in  hand,  in  lieu  of 
the  hand  of  her  expected  bridegroom,  and  in  consideration  of  which 
she  relinquished  all  right  and  title  in  and  to  the  said  bridegroom. 

What  became  of  the  deserted  fair  one  with  the  sixty  thousand  charms, 
we  do  not  know — but  we  presume  that,  if  she  still  felt  herself  matrimo- 
nially inclined,  she  found  no  difficulty  in  attracting  and  fixing  scores  of 
devoted  admirers  from  which  to  choose.  At  any  rate,  if  we  were  in  the 
market,  and  a  sixty  thousand  dollar  lure  should  come  gliding  down  the 
stream  of  life,  we  think  we  could  tell  of  an  old  trout  who  would  leap 
from  his  hiding-place,  willing  to  be  caught. 

Our  nabob  mandarin,  after  doing  up  this  little  speculation  in  fancy 
matrimonial  securities,  immediately  cast  about  for  another  venture  in  the 
same  line,  and  at  last  paid  a  business  visit  to  Massachusetts,  and  made  a 
u  dicker  "  with  one  of  its  wooden  nutmeg-making,  clock-peddling  fathers, 
for  the  hand  and  person  of  the  lady  who  is  now  his  wife.  They  live  in 
the  perfection  of  parvenu  style  and  fashion — that  is,  they  do  every  thing 
exactly  as  the  French  waiting-maid  and  the  upholsterer  prescribe.  They 
go  to  the  opera,  because  among  the  set  to  which  they  wish  to  belong,  it 
appeared  to  be  fashionable  to  do  so.  The  lady  may  have  the  fashionable 
amount  of  musical  education  ;  but  as  for  the  gentleman,  his  judgment  of 
the  various  chops  of  tea  is  far  superior  to  his  opinion  of  the  relative 
merit  of  different  operas  or  artists. 

He  and  his  card  sposa  appear  to  live  very  comfortably  as  times  go. 
The  lady  is  a  "  highflier ,?  in  her  notions  of  matters  and  things,  and  goes 
in  for  cutting  a  big  swell  as  she  dashes  along.  She  has  plenty  of  admi- 
rers, gives  magnificent  entertainments,  and  does  in  all  respects  exactly  as 
she  pleases — the  only  paradisal  state  of  existence  to  a  woman.  She 
knows  the  price  she  paid  for  all  these  beatitudes,  and  as  it  wasn't  love, 
she  don't  consider  them  too  dear.  After  all,  if  we  look  closely  into  the 
private  histories  which  go  to  make  up  the  aggregate  of  society,  we  shall 
see  the  general  truth  broadly  inculcated,  that  woman  is  strictly  an  article 
of  merchandise.  Who,  then,  shall  blame  her  for  getting  the  highest 
price  she  can  for  her  charms  and  her  attractions  ? 

The  mystery  of  it  is,  to  the  outsiders,  how  such  people  as  these  conti- 
nue to  be  recognized  as  the  "aristocracy"  of  this  refined  metropolis,  and 
to  assist  in  giving  tone  and  character  to  American  society.  But  to  those 
who  have  any  just  idea  of  the  power  of  money  as  the  representative  of 
things,  and  the  utter  superfluity  of  ideas,  the  explanation  is  easy  enough. 
These  brainless  clods,  these  heartless  flirts,  these  stingy  shopkeepers, 
have  made  money ;  and  with  that  they  can  buy  any  kind  of  distinction, 


*\ 


T2  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

social,  literary,  or  political.  There  is  a  kind  of  vague,  indistinct  con- 
sciousness among  these  people,  that  they  are  troubled  with  a  lack  of  brains, 
and  could  not  but  appear  ridiculous  in  the  presence  of  persons  with  the 
slightest  pretensions  to  intellect.  Hence  their  studious  neglect  of  literary 
men  and  women,  and  the  pains  they  take  to  surround  themselves  with 
such  expensive  accessories  and  time-consuming  ceremonies,  as  make  a 
person  of  moderate  earnings  feel  uncomfortably  out  of  place  the  moment 
he  finds  himself  among  them.  A  moderate  sized  family  cannot  expect 
to  go,  as  it  is  called,  "  decently "  into  society  in  New  York  short  of  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year ;  and  few  who  make  their  money  honestly  have 
anything  like  that  income.  The  consequence  is,  that  "aristocratic" 
society  is  principally  made  up  of  brainless  spendthrifts,  unprincipled 
gamblers,  and  heartless  flirts.  This  is  a  hard  thing  to  say — but  the 
worst  of  it  is,  that  it  is  true. 

If  you  will  take  the  altitude  of  that  rouguish-looking  gentleman, 
seated  between  two  over-dressed  daughters,  we  will  relate  to  you,  in  a 
few  words,  a  history  that  might  answer,  with  here  and  there  an  altera- 
tion, for  three-quarters  of  the  shop-keeping  "  aristocracy  "  of  this  beautiful 
metropolis. 

The  gentleman  is  the  son  of  the  skipper  of  an  old  Albany  packet- 
schooner — a  sort  of  vessel  greatly  resembling,  in  its  day  and  generation, 
the  u  chicken  thieves  "  that  ply  up  and  down  "  the  coast "  to  and  from 
New  Orleans ;  but  it  has  long  since  passed  out  of  knowledge.  Our  hero 
not  having  any  particular  penchant  for  the  sea,  nor  even  being  much 
delighted  with  the  charming  scenery  of  the  Hudson,  declined  the  heredi- 
tary schooner,  and  commenced  life  by  making  fires  and  running  of 
errands  for  a  broker's  office.  He  remained  brokering  for  some  years, 
and  then  made  a  venture  to  South  America,  whence  he  returned  with 
some  money  and  considerable  knowledge  of  the  world,  as  exhibited  in 
those  distant  and  enlightened  regions. 

After  his  return,  he  cast  about  for  the  quickest  and  safest  way  of  turn- 
ing his  money,  and  at  last  went  into  the  flour  business.  He  was, 
however,  unlucky,  and  found  that  the  staff"  of  life  would  not  afford  him 
an  adequate  support.  He  therefore  backed  out  from  that,  and  in  1833, 
in  company  with  another  speculator,  went  into  the  stock-brokerage 
business.  Here  the  golden  goddess  again  smiled  upon  him,  and  for  a 
time  the  concern  went  on  swimmingly.  After  awhile  he  and  his  partner 
dissolved  the  union,  and  our  hero  went  on  alone,  with  variable  success, 
until  1838,  when  he  smashed  up  completely,  and  gave  his  notes  in  settle- 
ment—some of  which,  by  the   way,  were   not   paid   till  last  cholera 


A  "  bogus"  dandy,  13 

summer.  Perhaps  the  cholera  acted  sympathetically  upon  his  con- 
science. 

Somewhere  about  1842,  our  friend  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with 

the  cashier  of  the Life  and  Trust  Company,  who  furnished  him 

with  funds  to  go  into  a  large  speculation  in  State  Stocks — buying  at 
53,  and  in  a  short  time  having  the  gratification  to  see  them  run  up  to 
par.  The  result  of  this  speculation  was,  a  clear  profit  of  about  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars — or  fifty  thousand  for  our  hero,  and  the  same  for 
his  friend  the  cashier.  The  latter  thereupon  resigned  his  office,  and  both 
went  into  partnership  together,  and  commenced  an  extensive  and  profit- 
able business. 

Heretofore  our  hero  had  been  simply  a  business  man — a  money- 
making  man.  Now,  however,  the  latent  buds  of  his  ambition,  warmed 
into  life  by  the  genial  spring  of  wealth,  burst  into  full  bloom,  and  our 
drudge  became  suddenly  transformed  into  the  aristocrat — came  the  big 
figure  in  a  tip-top  residence  in  a  fashionable  street,  dressed  his  family  to 
death,  set  up  a  carriage,  with  a  driver  more  than  his  master's  equal  in 
birth,  breeding,  heart  and  intellect,  and  finally  reached  the  summit  of 
his  ambition,  and  a  sofa  at  the  Opera  House,  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
He  knows  as  much  of  music  as  his  friend  the  New  York  Mandarin,  or 
his  neighbor  the  fat  auctioneer ;  however,  he  and  his  daughter  seem  to 
enjoy  the  scene  to  the  full.  The  ladies,  although,  as  we  have  said,  some- 
what over-dressed,  are  decidedly  handsome,  and  evidently  good-natured 
and  amiable.  They  are  at  least  as  refined  and  well-bred  as  most  of  their 
neighbors,  and  altogether  show  off  as  very  flattering  samples  of  upper- 
crustitude. 

But  if  the  daughters  are  distinguished  for  their  amiability,  the  father 
is  as  notorious  for  the  hardness  of  his  character.  No  man  in  the  street 
bears  down  more  heavily  upon  new-beginners  and  men  of  small  means, 
struggling  on  the  meager  common  where  once  he  was,  than  our  purse- 
proud  and  clay-hearted  aristocrat.  Indeed,  next  to  increasing  his  own 
gains,  it  is  probable  that  his  dearest  pleasure  in  life  is  to  see  the  hopes 
of  others  disappointed. 

There,  perhaps,  is  the  biggest  dandy  in  the  house — at  least  he  thinks 
he  is,  and  that  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  People  pass  pretty  much  at 
their  own  valuation — unless  it  is  too  high,  and  then  they  are  "  bogus," 
and  won't  go  at  all.  The  history  of  that  gentleman,  who  seems  to  know 
everybody,  who  is  well  received  and  goes  everywhere,  is  an  interesting 
and  instructive  chapter  of  human  nature.  He  came  at  a  very  early  but 
not  very  tender  age  from  the  country,  and  got  a  place  in  a  small  retail 

5 


74  NEW    YORK     NAKED, 

dry-goods  store  in  Maiden  Lane.  He  was,  however,  so  excessively 
awkward  and  shy  in  his  manners  that  he  became  a  real  nuisance  to  the 
customers ;  and  his  employer,  although  he  found  his  new  clerk  honest 
and  faithful,  yet  began  to  feel  that  he  must  either  mend  his  manners  or 
cut  his  stick.  Through  the  friendly  instructions  and  advice  of  another 
clerk,  however,  our  hero  gradually  shed  the  "exuviae  of  the  clown,"  as. 
our  friend  Patrick  Henry — or  maybe  it  was  William  Wirt — somewhere 
so  aptly  says ;  and  in  process  of  time  the  rude  and  boorish  country 
bumpkin  refined  his  common  mind  to  more  porcelain  consistence,, and 
acquired,  in  the  end,  all  the  extra  polish  of  fashionable  life  and  good 
society. 

After  our  hero  had  grown  to  be  a  bearded  man,  and  had  gone  success- 
fully into  business  with  the  fellow-clerk , who  had  formerly  taken  his  part, 
and,  as  it  were,  licked  him  into  shape,  he  paid  a  visit  one  summer  to  a 
fashionable  watering-place,  to  get  a  glimpse  of  good  society  in  undress, 
and  make  some  observations  necessary  to  perfect  his  knowledge  of  the 
manners  and  usages  of  the  great  world.  Here  he  fell  in,  accidentally, 
with  a  rich  banker  and  capitalist,  from  one  of  the  river  towns,  who  had 
accompanied  an  invalid  daughter  to  the  springs  in  the  hope  of  restoring 
-  her  to  health.  Our  hero  at  once  paid  the  most  assiduous  court  to  the 
family ;  and,  by  the  closeness  and  unremittingness  of  his  attentions,  at 
length  fairly  won  the  "heart  of  both  father  and  daughter.  The  affair 
ended  in  a  proposal  of  marriage,  which,  although  regarded  favorably  by 
the  young  lady  as  well  as  her  father,  raised  such  a  clamor  from  the 
friends  and  relations  against  the  obscurity  and  poverty  of  the  wooer,  that 
the  affair  was  postponed,  though  not  abandoned.  Suffice  it  to  say  that, 
as  usual,  true  love  and  shrewd  calculation  got  the  advantage  of  all  oppos- 
ing obstacles,  and  they  were  finally  married. 

The  business  of  our  hero  and  his  partner  had  been  uniformly  prosper- 
ous, and  they  were  gradually  increasing  their  means  and  laying  the 
foundation  of  influence  and  wealth.  During  one  of  the  great  commercial 
crises,  however,  which  swept  over  the  country  a  few  years  ago,  the  house 
fell  with  the  crash,  and  our  hero  found  every  dollar  remorselessly  swept 
away.  After  things  had  subsided  a  little,  his  father-in-law  advanced  him 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  with  which  he  recommenced  business  on  his 
own  account,  and  in  a  short  time  began  to  make  headway  again.  Gra- 
dually the  old  gentleman  gave  up,  too,  the  management  of  his  own 
affairs  into  the  hands  of  his  active  and  energetic  son-in-law;  until,  finally, 
the  young  man  found  himself  virtually  the  head  of  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar bunks  in  the  State,  and  the  controlling  spirit  of  an  immense  and 
widely-ramified  business. 


THE    OLD    KNICKERBOCKERS.  15 

His  natural  instincts  for  society  now  claimed  a  hearing,  and  our  hero 
soon  began  to  make  his  appearance  in  the  wealthiest  and  most  aristocra- 
tic circles  of  metropolitan  society.  At  the  Opera,  of  course,  he  was 
"  bound  to  shine ; "  and  you  may  see  him,  on  any  regular  evening,  as 
he  is  now,  going  about  with  an  air  of  perfect  self-assurance,  and  appear- 
ing toJoe  on  the  same  comfortable  terms  with  himself  as  with  everybody 
else.  He  is  always,  however,  alone,  and  his  wife  is  never  seen  in  society 
at  all — preferring  the  domestic  quietude  of  <;  private  life  "  to  the  gaudy 
tinsel  of  fashion  and  its  attending  follies.  If  she  is  as  happy  as  the  hus- 
band evidently  is,  they  may  truly  be  called  a  favored  household. 

But  we  have  exhausted  our  evening,  though  by  no  means  our  mate- 
rial. Yet  we  shall  return  here  no  more.  What  we  have  seen  and 
described  as  represented  in  the  faithful  daguerreotype  of  our  achromatic 
voigtlander  lorgnette  will  serve  'admirably  as  an  illustration  of  the  entire 
classes  that  have  passed  over  our  field  of  vision  ;  and  from  a  considera- 
tion of  what  we  have  here  presented,  may  be  gathered  a  correct  idea  of 
the  most  pretentious  class  of  the  aristocracy  of  New  York.  It  is  true, 
that  beyond  the  walls  of  the  Opera  House,  and  the  gaudy  circle  where 
our  parvenues  and  snobs  play  their  ludicrous  pranks,  there  are  circles  of 
society  where  a  true,  well-bred,  and  unpretending  aristocracy,  possessing 
but  not  boasting  the  distinction  of  elegance,  refinement,  blood  and  edu- 
cation, holds  its  unpretending  reign.  But,  of  the  few  families  who  com- 
pose these  circles,  little  is  ever  seen  or  heard  in  public.  By  never 
attempting  to  interfere  with  the  rights  of  others,  nor  to  monopolize 
the  distinctions  and  privileges  of  society,  they  have  never  made  them- 
selves obnoxious  to  the  strictures  of  even  cynics  and  philosophers,  and 
are  justly  entitled  to  escape  all  censorious  comments.  There  are  some 
of  them,  the  remaining  families  of  the  wealthy  Knickerbockers,  who 
first  settled  in  these  regions,  and  whose  blood  has  flowed  in  a  pure  and 
uninterrupted  stream  for  many  generations.  Seldom  distinguished  for 
genius,  unusual  talent,  or  a  vigorous  ambition,  they  are  quite  free  from 
all  imputations  of  meanness,  avarice,  and  insolence,  and  their  history 
forms  a  clear,  pure,  but  stagnant,  level,  like  the  waters  of  some  seques- 
tered lake,  remote  from  haunts  of  bustling  men,  whose  virgin  waves  are 
unviolated  by  the  prows  of  eager  travel  or  grasping  trade,  and  whose 
green  solitudes  are  undisturbed  by  the  disenchanting  scream  of  'scape 
valve  or  steam  whistle.  They  are,  in  truth,  the  conservative  element  of 
the  condition  of  society  in  the  New  World,  and,  like  everything  else  con- 
servative, are  slowly  but  inevitably  disappearing  and  sinking  to  an  utter 
annihilation.     In  a  few  generations  more,  these  remnants  and  relics  of 


16  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

the  past  will  be  entirely  absorbed  and  transmuted,  and  then  we  shall  rush 
onward  in  the  great  and  magnificent  experiment  of  seeing  how  society 
can  get  along  without  any  conservative  elements  whatever.  Already  are 
the  names  of  these  old  families  we  have  mentioned  become  like  shadows 
to  our  apprehension.  Many  will  hasten  to  extinction  even  in  the  pre- 
sent generation;  while  the  inevitable  and  irresistible  decay  of  a^l  the 
race  is  as  palpable  as  the  fading  of  the  Red  man  from  hill  and  plain. 
Although,  strictly  scanned,  the  members  of  these  families  would  indivi- 
dually betray  a  remarkable  decrepitude  and  degeneracy  of  character, 
inseparable  from  the  physiological  conditions  of  their  existence  on  this 
continent,  yet  we  never  see  one  of  them  nor  hear  the  name  mentioned 
without  an  involuntary  tribute  of  respect  to  these  crumbling  relics  of  a 
decayed  and  dying  social  feudalism,  the  like  of  which  can  never  again 
exist  on  this  free  earth. 


POWER    OF    THE    PRESS.  7t 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    PRESS ITS    DUTIES    AND    RESPONSIBILITIES. 

The  Press !  Mighty  power !  Miraculous  engine !  Irresistible  im- 
pulse— electric  thrill,  that  keeps  the  pulse  of  the  world  throbbing,  and 
beats  to  the  brains  remotest  convolutions — which  clarifies  the  moral 
atmosphere,  and  keeps  it  from  petrifaction  and  decay.  How  shall  I 
approach  thee  ?  for,  although  from  earliest  boyhood,  bred  among  thy 
minions,  disciples  and  devotees,  now  that  I  stand  as  it  were  beyond 
myself,  and  seek  to  scan  all  the  interests  of  society  with  a  just,  impartial, 
and  remorseless  eye,  I  find  myself  in  a  strange  predicament.  Evenly 
balanced  between  the  veneration  which  the  ideal  press  inspires,  and  the 
knowledge  that  an  experience  of  the  actual  imparts,  I  fear,  on  the  one 
hand  to  do  it  more  than  honor,  and  on  the  other,  less  than  justice. 
Indeed  to  one  who  has  penetrated  into  the  profounder  depths  of  the 
arcana  of  journalism — to  whom  all  the  mechanism  that  moves  this 
gigantic  automaton  is  familiar,  and  whose  fingers  are  within  reach  of  the 
most  secret  stops  and  keys  of  this  world-moving  organ — the  contrast 
between  what  it  might  be,  and  should  be,  and  what  it  is,  is  little  less 
than  terrible,  oppressing  the  soul  with  its  material  weight,  and  crushing 
the  aspirations  of  progress  and  humanity,  that  are  thus  checked  in  their 
inmost  temple  by  the  divulgings  of  their  most  secret  oracle.  What  the 
tripod  of  the  Pythoness,  the  omens  and  oracles  of  the  seers  and  sooth- 
sayers, the  inspirations  of  the  prophets,  and  the  direct  revelations  from 
Heaven  were  to  the  earlier  ages — what  the  two  tables  of  stone  given  to 
Moses  on  Mount  Horeb  were  to  the  patriarchal  epoch  of  the  race — the 
press  ought  to  be  to  the  men  of  this  generation.  What  chivalry  and 
knighthood  were  to  the  dark  ages,  the  knights  of  the  press  should  be  to 
this — the  defenders  of  the  assailed,  the  protectors  of  the  weak,  the  vindi- 
cators of  the  innocent,  the  terror  of  the  oppressor,  the  scourge  of  the 
false,  and  the  righter  of  the  wronged.  ISTo  institution,  nor  no  power  on 
earth,  sacerdotal  or  secular,  ever  held  so  high  a  trust  or  ministered  from 
so  lofty  an  altar  as  the  free  press  of  the  nineteenth  century ;  and  when  I 
look  at  it  as  it  is,  scan  one  by  one  the  materials  of  which  it  is  com- 


18  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

posed,  and  see  how  ludicrously  inadequate  are  the  means  to  the  mighty 
end,  I  feel  a  disposition  to  retract  my  connection  with  it,  to  break  off  all 
intercourse  with  its  oracles,  and  to  denounce  it  as  the  giant  imposition 
of  the  century — the  false  priest,  and  the  dishonest  monster  that  should 
be  chased  in  disgrace  from  the  temple. 

But  after  all,  I  know  that  I  am  wrong.  Although  the  press  itself  is  a 
far  higher  and  loftier  institution  than  any  other  on  earth,  yet  its  mem- 
bers and  ministers  are  and  must  be  only  men,  and  men  too  in  the  general, 
at  the  same  points  of  development  as  those  by  whom  they  are  sur- 
rounded, and  with  whom  they  live.  Therefore,  if  the  littlenesses  and 
selfishnesses  of  those  who  control  the  press,  appear  monstrous  and  exagge- 
rated, it  is  only  because  their  position  and  their  responsibilities  are  so 
much  greater  than  those  of  other  men  that  their  slightest  derilection 
assumes  the  aspect  of  a  crime.  Intrinsically  and  inherently,  therefore,  I 
do  honestly  believe  that  there  is  an  equal  amount  of  honor,  integrity, 
intelligence  and  independence  in  the  press,  as  in  any  other  profession  or 
calling  among  men.  And  in  the  comments  which  I  am  about  to  make 
on  the  leading  members  of  this  powerful  body  in  this  metropolis  of  the 
New  World,  I  claim  to  be  actuated  by  a  desire  to  probe  the  monstrous 
corruptions  and  evils  under  which  our  noble  profession  suffers,  not  to 
gratify  the  remotest  shadow  of  a  personal  feeling,  or  an  envious  hatred  to 
those  who  have  reached  a  higher  point  than  myself  in  their  journey 
through  life.  Among  all  men  who  create,  either  in  literature  or  art,  the 
present  miserable  and  inverted  system  of  rewards,  both  pecuniary  and 
moral,  produces  an  inevitable  envy  as  the  general  law  of  their  existence. 
But  knowing  this  full  well,  and  being  every  day  disgusted  by  some  con- 
temptible illustration  of  this  truth,  I  hope  I  have  self-denial  enough  to 
sacrifice  whatever  of  latent  jeelousy  or  envy  of  my  cotemporaries  may 
find  lodgment  in  my  heart,  and  to  give  expression  only  to  those  impul- 
ses of  justice  and  ambition  which  are  based  upon  the  profession  itself, 
and  a  careful  and  earnest  study  of  its  duties  and  responsibilities.  Let  us 
then,  in  pursuance  with  our  sketchy  plan  of  composition,  in  which,  being 
amenable  to  no  law  of  rhetoric  or  logic,  we  have  freer  scope  for  the  utter- 
ance of  all  that  presses  upon  us,  call  before  us  the  principal  individuals 
who  sway  those  engines  of  public  opinion — the  newspapers — and  whose 
voice  can  make  or  mar,  save  or  damn,  the  greatest  enterprises  and  the 
loftiest  hopes. 


MAJOR    NOAH.    '  *79 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE     PRESS,     CONTINUED MAJOR     SO  AH JOSEPH     BARBER JAMES     WAT- 
SON   WEBB WILLIAM    CULLEN    BRYANT PARKE    GODWIN. 

The  whole  of  this,  and  the  succeeding  chapters,  devoted  to  the  Press, 
I  have  been  obliged  to  re -write.  They  were  first  'composed  two  years 
and  a  half  ago.  In  that  time  how  many  changes  have  taken  place! 
Some  are  dead — some  appointed  to  foreign  missions — some  gone  into 
the  Custom  House — some  have  married — some  have  taken  to  trade — 
some  to  drink — some  have  got  rich — and  almost  all  have  changed 
places. 

I  had  placed  at  the  head  of  my  catalogue,  as  being  the  patri- 
arch of  the  press,  the  name  of  Major  Noah,  whom  I  had  seen  the 
very  morning  on  which  this  chapter  was  written,  fresh  and  buoy- 
ant, in  all  the  exuberance  of  health  and  good  nature,  which  made  him  so 
great  a  favorite  with  all.  Now — he  is  no  more.  Still,  I  let  his  name 
stand  in  the  place  I  originally  assigned  it.  I  let  stand,  too,  the  censure 
as  well  as  the  praise  with  which  I  remarked  upon  him.  Whatever  I 
then  said,  I  honestly  thought,  and,  therefore,  I  will  not  erase  a  syllable. 
Of  course,  had  the  work  not  been  written  until  after  his  death,  many 
modifications  might  have  taken  place  ;  but  now,  all  must  stand.  Major 
Noah  was  neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  great  majority  of  mankind, 
and  had  been  placed  in  a  position  which  neither  the  profoundness  of  his 
ideas  nor  the  brilliancy  of  his  literary  acquirements  fairly  warranted. 
But  he  was  a  genial,  cordial  man,  in  his  personal  relations,  and  from  his 
long  connection  with  the  press  and  public  affairs,  his  death  was  widely 
mourned. 

Mordecai  Manasseh  Noah,  formerly  styled  "  King  of  the  Jews,"  in 
years  gone  by,  and  at  the  era  of  American  journalism  corresponding  to 
the  infancy  of  the  institution,  was  considered  the  smartest  and  most  per- 
manent and  popular  of  our  editors.  We  remember  well  when  he,  after 
lying  perdu  for  a  certain  time,  broke  out  freshly  upon  the  admiration  of 
the  public  with  the  "  Evening  Star, "  a  paper  that  in  its  day  enjoyed 
an  unbounded  popularity  and  a  large  circulation,  and  made  no  small 


80  NEW    YORK     NAKED.  « 

degree  of  noise.  Major  Noah,  in  his  best  days, — and  these  were  his  best 
days, — was  a  rather  sparkling  writer,  altogether  superficial  in  his  ideas, 
but  quick  in  apprehension,  ready  in  words,  and  keen-sighted  to  perceive 
the  weak  points  of  his  enemy,  and  to  send  his  shaft  of  ridicule  or  satire, 
winged  with  his  grey  goose  quill,  right  to  its  centre.  His  paragraphs 
had  a  genial  tone,  and  he  always  adroitly  managed  to  conceal  the 
malevolence  (if  malevolence  there  were)  of  his  attacks  beneath  an  air  ot 
good-nature  and  candor,  which  quite  took  the  hearts  of  his  readers,  and 
left  his  adversary  altogether  at  his  mercy.  He  was  magnanimous,  too, 
in  his  newspaper  warfares,  in  one  or  another  of  which  he  was  perpetu- 
ally engaged,  and  not  only  came  off  victor,  but  uniformly  received  great 
praise  for  his  forbearance,  and  applause  for  what  he  had  not  done.  He 
had  a  quick  eye  for  external  nature,  and  especially  for  the  goings  on  o'f 
city  life  ;  and  whatever  subject  he  touched,  he  was  sure  to  render  inte- 
resting, either  by  happy  local  allusions,  and  witty  embellishment,  or  now 
and  then,  even  by  some  sprinkle  of  fancy  or  beam  of  imagination.  Of 
these  higher  elements,  however,  his  possessions  were  limited,  and  it  is 
very  seldom  that  traces  of  the  true  poetical  temperament  can  be  detected. 
His  writings  £re  an  indication  of  his  real  character.  He  was  an  excel- 
lent companion,  an  agreeable  acquaintance,  a  good  liver,  a  man  always 
ready  to  do  you  a  favor,  provided  it  did  not  cost  him  too  much,  and  who 
had  rather  live  on  good  terms  with  everybody,  excepting,  of  course,  pro- 
fessionally, than  to  take  the  trouble  and  risk  of  contention.  Sometimes, 
in  ttie  earlier  part  of  his  life,  his  heart  even  got  the  better  of  his  senses, 
and  his  benevolence  led  him  to  do  things  of  which  the  advantage  was 
entirely  against  himself.  As  a  general  rule,  he  kept  both  eyes  upon  the 
main  chance,  and  took  very  few  steps  and  made  very  few  motions  with 
his  thumb  and  fingers  without  some  special  object  of  self-emolument 
For  this,  as  times  go,  we  have,  of  course,  no  right  to  condemn  him.  He 
was,  at  least,  no  worse  than  many  others  of  his  profession  in  this  respect, 
while  he  was,  doubtless,  a  good  deal  better  than  some  of  them. 

The  political  career  6f  Major  Noah  was  a  fruitful  and  instructive  one. 
There  are  few  phases  of  partisanship  he  did  not  test,  few  systems  of  policy 
he  did  not  both  advocate  and  oppose,  and  few  great  questions  of  national 
interest  with  all  sides  of  which  he  was  not  familiar.  To  one  thing  in 
politics  he  was  ever  constant — his  own  aggrandizement ;  and  with  that 
remarkable  faculty  of  convincing  himself  of  his  own  incorruptibility, 
which  is  the  corner-stone  of  all  political  prosperity  to  the  individual,  he 
managed  so  to  trim,  and  stretch,  and  patch,  and  refashion  that  old  anti- 
quated garment  called  political  conscience,  as  to  adapt  it  exactly  to  his 


noah's  political  and  editorial  career.  81 

own  needs  and  his  own  necessities.  He  was  a  warm  advocate,  and 
almost  the  exclusive  organ  of  Tyler  and  Tylerism ;  and  having  been 
placed  by  that  memorable  patriot  in  a  snug  berth  in  the  Custom  House, 
with  no  services  and  a  good  salary,  he  managed  to  retain  it  up  to  the 
hour  of  his  death.  His  office  was  that  of  a  secret  inspector — salary 
$1500  a  year,  prequisites  as  much  more,  and  pickings  and  stealings  to 
any  reasonable  extent.  His  duty  was  to  take  a  walk  once  a  month  up 
the  East  River,  and  see  that  the  pier-heads  of  the  wharves  were  all  in 
their  proper  places,  and  that  the  rats  had  not  run  away  with  the  under- 
pinning of  the  Dry  Dock.  When  his  Tyler  organ,  the  "Union,"  followed 
its  prototype  into  the  hades  of  oblivion,  the  Major  was  for  some  time 
unknown  to  the  journalistic  world  ;  but  he  soon  reappeared  as  editor  of 
"  Noah's  Sunday  Messenger ;"  which,  after  losing  as  much  money  as  the 
Major  cared  about  taking  out  of  his  own  pocket,  was  united  with  the 
"  Sunday  Times,"  and  still  continues  to  be  published  under  the  latter 
appellation.  To  this  sheet,  of  which  the  Major  continued  the  responsible 
editor  while  he  lived,  he  has  imparted  a  higher  tone  than  had  before 
characterized  the  Sunday  press  ;  and  its  patronage  and  circulation  are 
now  large  and  among  a  very  intelligent  and  respectable  class  of  the  com- 
munity. His  own  personal  labor  on  the  paper  was  light,  the  editorial 
columns  being  filled  with  spicy  paragraphs  and  racy  editorials,  by  various 
practised  pens,  who  are  always  well  paid  and  well  treated  by  the  proprietors, 
Messrs.  Deans  and  Howard.  Some  of  »these  are  capitally  done,  especially 
the  good-natured  burlesques,  many  of  which  are  quite  worthy  of  "Punch" 
himself. 

Major  Noah  was  also,  sub  rosa,  editor  of  the  "  Morning  Star,"  a  penny 
paper  of  large  circulation,  but  without  any  distinctive  characteristics, 
except  those  of  good-nature  and  industry,  and  which,  after  sinking  about 
twenty  thousand  dollars  to  the  proprietors,  is  now  merged  into  a  demo- 
cratic journal,  under  the  offices  of  Caspar  Childs,  the  coroner  of  New 
York  newspapers. 

The  "  Sunday  Times"  is  now  edited  by  one  of  the  finest  and  choicest 
writers  belonging  to  the  world  of  New  York  journalism — Joseph  Barber, 
who,  with  wit  and  talent  enough  for  a  new  Elia,  is  forced,  by  the  meagre 
pay  awarded  to  both  these  qualities,  to  expend  his  time  and  energies  in 
the  more  productive  fields  of  puff-writing  and  other  literary  drudgery. 
It  is  pleasant,  however,  amid  all  the  regret  that  such  a  perversion  of  good 
gifts  inspires,  to  trace  him  in  his  better  moments  through  the  columns 
which  he  now  and  then  so  joyously  embellishes. 

But  to  return  to  Major  Noah.     Thfc  old  king  of  Israel  must  have  left 


82  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

some  distance  behind  the  goal  of  those  three  score  years  and  ten  which 
the  Psalmist  appointed  for  the  race  of  men  ;  yet,  till  a  short  time  before 
his  death,  the  old  man's  eye  had  lost  none  of  its  brightness,  nor  his  cheek 
its  color,  nor  his  form  its  buoyant  and  dignified  erectness.  But  the  last 
time  we  saw  him  we  were  shocked  at  perceiving  that  he  was  almost 
blind,  and  that,  led  carefully  in  by  the  friend  with  whom  he  had  come 
to  dine  one  bright  Sunday  at  the  Union  Place  Hotel,  his  voice  trembled 
as  he  accosted  us,  and  his  hand  felt  dry  and  scaly  in  our  grasp.  A  few 
days  later,  we  heard  that  he  had  been  attacked  by  paralysis ;  and  again, 
after  the  lapse  of  a  few  more  days,  that  he  was  slowly  recovering.  His 
powerful  frame  and  iron  constitution  for  a  time  still  withstood  the 
assaults  of  the  remorseless  enemy ;  but  already  had  the  walls  of  the  castle 
be^an  to  reel  beneath  the  blows  of  the  assailant,  and  soon  the  citadel 
itself  rendered  itself  up  to  the  conqueror  of  the  mighty.  "When  he  died, 
a  wide  chasm  was  left  in  the  circle  of  relatives  and  friends  nearest  around 
him — for  in  all  the  attributes  of  husband,  father,  and  citizen,  no  stain  of 
reproach  rests  upon  his  name.  Often  have  we  seen  him  and  his  hand- 
some young  wife  seated  together  at  the  theatre  or  concert-room,  their 
faces  glowing  with  that  enthusiasm  for  art,  and  that  appreciation  of  its 
liohtest  efforts,  which  form  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  their 
wondrous  race,  and  their  eyes  glistening  with  that  dew  of  sympathy 
which  dries  up  in  ordinary  hearts  ere  the  hair  begins  to  silver  or  the 
brow  to  wrinkle.  When  we  mis%  Major  Noah  from  our  frequent  casual 
encounter  in  Nassau  street,  and  meet  no  more,  for  month  after  month, 
the  genial  nod  and  kindly  pressure,  we  feel  that  a  patriarch  of  our  pro- 
fession has  departed  from  us,  and  one  who,  if  he  did  not  fulfill  all  that 
might  be  exacted  of  him,  at  least  escaped  many  of  the  vices  and  demor- 
alizing corruptions  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  and  successfully  resisted 
temptations  beneath  which  others  might  have  succumbed.  The  funeral 
of  Major  Noah  was  a  solemn  festival  of  grief  in  New  York. 

Next  in  point  of  age,  influence  and  importance,  among  our  city  jour- 
nalists, is  General  James  Watson  Webb,  a  man  who  in  his  day  and 
generation  has  exercised  probably  a  more  extended  influence,  for  good  as 
well  as  evil,  upon  the  public  opinion  and  public  affairs  of  this  country, 
than  any  other  editor  attached  to  the  New  York  press.  His  personal 
.  and  political  history  he  has  managed,  by  the  help  of  his  organization,  to 
keep  the  public  entirely  familiar  with.  He  eannot  bo  a  bad  man,  by 
nature,  or  he  would  have  been  more  careful  to  conceal  his  tergiversations 
from  the  public.  He  is  haughty,  self-willed,  violent  when  thwarted,  and 
reckless  of  danger  to  himself  or  his  position,  and  we  fear  unscrupulous  in 


GEN.    WEBB    AND    LAVATER.  83 

His  assaults  upon  his  adversaries.     Conscious  of  great  intellectual  force 
and  moral  power,  he  lacks  those  graces  and  that  nice  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things,  which  are  the  only  passports  to  personal  respect  and  deference 
on  the  part  of  the  public  towards  its  conspicuous  men.     This  galls  and 
irritates  him  ;  and  in  the  mortification  of  losing  that  for  which  his  vanity 
impels  him  incessantly  to  seek,  he  commits  and  recommits  the  very 
excesses  which  absolutely  prevent  him  from  ever  achieving  it.    He  is  too 
careless  of  the  feelings  of  others  ever  to  have  his  own  respected,  and  too 
remorseless  in  his  pursuit  of  a  foe  to  receive  the  commiserations  of  the 
spectators  when  he  himself  happens  to  be  worsted.     As  to  political  con- 
sistency, he  has  uniformly  derided  it.     Parties  and  platforms  he  has  set 
at  naught,  and  sacrificed  without  a  regret  every  public  man  who  would 
not  minister  to  his  own  purposes.    The  excuse  for  this  is  doubtless  found 
by  his  own  conscience,  in  that  wide-spread  selfishness,  dishonesty,  and 
corruption,  that  pervade  political  affairs,  and  from  the  stigma  of  which 
we  know  not  the  public  man  who  has  escaped.     Indeed,  the  whole 
scheme  of  politics,  as  conducted  in  this  Republic,  sets  a  premium  on  ras- 
cality, and  elevates  above  the  heads  of  honest,  modest  and  worthy  men, 
the  most  worthless  and  unreliable  elements  of  our  society:.     Political  suc- 
cess demands  such  an  abnegation  of  all  the  higher  qualities  of  the  human 
heart,  that  none  who  possess  them  in  an  eminent  degree  will  pay  the 
price  or  make  the  sacrifice.     The  consequence  is,  that  our  offices  and 
places  of  public  trust  and  honor,  are  filled  by  the  men  least  deserving  the 
confidence  and  the  respect  of  their  fellow  citizens.     This  is  true  of  all 
times  and  all  parties,  but  never  more  true  than  of  the  present  times  and 
the  present  parties  in  the  American  Republic.     In  pursuing,  therefore, 
to  their  farthest  results  in  the  aggrandizement  of  the  individual,  the 
detestable  doctrines  that  actuate  parties  and  public  men  at  this  day, 
General  Webb  has  but  to  lay  the  salvo  to  his  bleeding  conscience — "I 
am  no  worse  than  my  fellows."     But  he  who  seeks  in  the  depravity  of 
others  an  excuse  for  himself,  although  he  may  escape  the  punishment 
due  to  crime,  need  never  hope  tl^}  respect  we  pay  alone  to.  virtue. 

General  Webb  is  a  finely-framed  martial-looking,  man ;  and  now  since 
his  hair  has  become  gray,  strikingly  indicates  the  doctrine  of  Lavater 
that  every  man  resembles  some  peculiar  tribe  of  animals.  The  family  to 
which  General  Webb  evidently  belongs  is  the  wolf  species.  He  is  emi- 
nently carnivorous  and  combative.  He  ha  sgreat  keenness  of  intellect, 
but  is  deficient  in  that  discretion  and  common  sense  which  are  the  high- 
est endowments  of  the  human  brain.  He  has  no  appreciation  of  wit  or 
fancy,  and  only  delights  in  those  growls  and  biting  onsets  which  his  wolf- 


84  KEW   YORK    NAKED. 

ish  characteristics  indicate.  His  journal,  the  "  Courier  and  Enquirer," 
was  once  almost  unlimited  in  its  power,  but  the  repeated  indiscretions  of 
its  editorial  conduct  (not  always  attributable  to  General  Webb  himself), 
and  the  feroicity  with  which  its  political  course  has  been  characterized, 
had  greatly  loosened  the  foundations  of  its  popularity,  until  it  finally 
opened  its  columns  to  the  treasonable  and  destructive  spirit  of  abolition- 
ism and  anti-slavery,  and  almost  at  a  blow  came  near  tumbling  from  its 
lofty  position.  It  was  for  some  months  no  longer  any  other  than  a  mere 
sectional  and  sectarian  sheet,  devoted  to  the  advocacv  of  certain  narrow 
principles  and  narrower  men,  whose  success  or  prosperity  can  never  be 
achieved  but  at  the  expense  of  the  country  and  the  Constitution. 
Alarmed  at  the  unmistakable  evidences  of  the  loss  of  position  furnished 
by  the  rapid  decay  of  its  subscription-list  and  advertising  patronage,, 
during  his  absence,  General  Webb  hastened  home  from.  Europe,  and  has 
since  endeavored  to  retrace  its  steps  and  regain  the  position  it  had  lost. 
This  work  has  been  but  partially  successful — the  "  Courier  and  Enqui- 
rer "  can  scarcely  hope  to  again  exert  its  old  political  influence. 

Age,  genius,  and  reputation,  being  the  three  most  valuable  things  on 
earth,  we  should  not  be  excused  for  longer  withholding  our  attentions 
from  William  Cullen  Bryant,  the  chief  of  American  poets,  editor  of  the 
"  Evening  Post,"  and  most  popular  literary  man  of  the  country  next  to 
Irving.  Mr.  Bryant,  though  he  writes  slowly  and  with  great  labor,  and 
has  a  natural  indisposition  to  produce — whenever  he  does  produce,  it  is 
something  worth  the  reading.  Cool,  polished,  unimpeachable  in  style 
and  tone,  his  prose  is  distinguished  by  a  rare  moderation  of  sentiment, 
perspicuity  of  expression,  and  gentle  feeling.  lie  is  remarkably  unpre- 
tending, both  as  a  writer  and  a  man.  Although  naturally  courted  by 
every  circle  and  wooed  to  grace  the  assemblies  of  fashion  and  aristocracy, 
while  his  unblemished  personal  reputation  and  captivating  manners  make 
him  welcome  in  every  circle,  yet  he  rarely  indulges  his  social  instincts, 
•r  gives  play  to  those  exquisite  qualities  of  genial  wit  and  philosophy  at 
his  command.  He  has  become  almost  a  complete  book-worm ;  and  with 
the  exception  of  his  own  immediate  and  narrow  circle,  and  an  occasional 
dinner  with  Mr.  Bancroft,  and  two  or  three  other  celebrities,  Mr.  Bryant 
is  rarely  found  from  home.  He  is  an  incessant  worker ;  and  in  the  little 
office  in  Nassau  street,  up  four  flights  of  stairs,  he  may  be  found  seated 
gingerly  on  the  edge  of  the  chair  at  the  corner  of  a  large  table  piled 
mountain  high  with  newspapers,  documents,  letters,  proofs,  tickets, 
invitations,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  an  editorial  sanctum,  with  scarce 
a  space  so  large  as  the  palm  of  his  hand  left  upon  which  he  rests  that 


THE    "CORPS'"    OF   THE    POST.  85 

portion  of  the  paper  immediately  under  his  fingers  as  he  writes.     Sitting 
thus,  bending  intensely  and  with  a  student-like  air  over  his  little  patch 
of  table,  his  intellectual,  pale  face  and  keen  eyes  alive  with  the  expression- 
of  the  thought  oozing  out  at  his  finger-ends — his  nervous,  slight,  but  well- 
knit  frame  held  in  a  disagreeable  state   of  tension  by  the  unconscious 
excitement  of  composition,  he  is  more  purely  and  definitely  a  picture  ot 
the  newspaper  editor  than  may  elsewhere  be  found  in  all  the  city.     He 
seldom  writes  poetry  now,  except  for  five  dollars  a  line,  when  our  ambi- 
tious and  good-natured  friend  George  R.  Graham  wants  to  make  a  grand 
sensation  with  a  show-number  of  his  magazine  ;  and;  absorbed  in  politics, 
and  devoted  with  all  the  earnestness  and  faithfulness  of  Samuel  Rogers, 
to  the  accumulation  of  money,  our  American  lyric  poet  lets  all  the  world 
of  philosophy,  and  aspiration,  and  hope,  and  golden  dreaming  glide  by 
him,  like  a  river  past  the  plodding  farmer  on  its  banks ;  delves  on  daily 
in  his  garret  den,  driving  before  him  the  interests  of  a  set  of  rascally 
politicians  unworthy  of  his  slightest  thought,  and  sacrifices  on  the  altar 
of  money  the  most  precious  offering  ever  made  to  Pluto — detested  and 
abhorred  god.     When  we  sometimes  turn  over  the  pages  of  this  man's 
poetry,  and  see  what  a  glorious  genius  was  his,  how  high  and  pure  his 
aspirations,  how  classic  and  crystalline  the  medium  of  his  thought  and 
intellect,  and  think  to  what  a  height  he  might  have  soared,  we  grow 
angry  at  the  man  himself;  and  in  behalf  of  his  country,  literature,  and 
of  mankind  at  large,   we  refuse  to  forgive  him  for  the  crime  against 
himself  and  us  he  has  committed.     But  it  is  too  late  to  call  upon  him  to 
awake.     The  Samson  of  American  song  is  shorn  of  his  hyacinthine  and 
strength-imparting  locks ;   and  though  in  good  earnest  the  Philistine 
Delilahs  were  upon  him,  he  could  no  longer  mingle  in  the  melodious 
fray.     So,  glorious  Bryant,  untimely  buried  in  the  didactic  columns  of 
the  "  Evening  Post" — forget  thyself  and  thy  destiny,  and  be  content ! 

Assistant  editor  of  the  "  Evening  Post,  "  and  son-in-law  to  its  princi- 
pal editor,  Bryant,  is  Parke  Godwin — one  of  the  profoundest,  most  ori- 
ginal, and  most  remarkable  •  thinkers  of  the  present  age.  He,  alone,  of 
all  the  disciples  of  those  gigantic  modern  reformers,  whose  shadows 
begin  to  bathe  the  world  in  the  light  of  a  new  morning,  combines  in  his 
organization  that  tenacity  of  practical  purpose,  that  comprehension  of 
realities,  and  that  self-possession  in  the  advocacy  of  new  ideas,  utterly 
indispensable  to  their  true  or  healthful  progress.  Were  our  Brisbanes 
and  Channings,  and  others,  whose  ridiculous  antics  keep  the  world  too 
busy  laughing  at  them  to  attend  seriously  to  what  they  say,  imbued 
even  with  a  tithe  of  the  straightforward,  practical  earnestness  of  God- 


86  NEW    TOES    NAE 

t 

win,  many  beautiful  and  grand  ideas,  now  stuck  fast  in  the  mud,  or  dis- 
appeared entirely  below  the  surface,  would  rise  up  in  their  true  propor- 
tions, and  make  excellent  progress  over  the  road  of  life.  Mr.  Godwin 
has  written  many  of  the  soundest  and  ablest  articles,  upon  subjects  of 
deep  and  practical  social  interest,  that  have  appeared  in  our  literature. 
His  style  is  manly,  massive,  pure,  and  animated.  As  a  speaker  and  lec- 
turer, he  is  logical  and  instructive,  though  not  decidedly  elegant ;  and 
our  literature  has  been  enriched  by  him  with  many  excellent  and 
truthful  translations"  from  the  German  and  other  modern  lano-uaores. 
He  is  a  man,  with  the  simple,  noble  and  truthful  heart  of  a  child — 
firm  as  steel  in  his  principles,  his  convictions,  and  his  friendships, 
yet  melting  as  wax  to  the  voice  of  affection,  of  suffering,  or  persuasion. 
Devoted  to  the  fine  arts,  in  their  serener  forms,  he  ought  to  rank  among 
the  first  of  our  aesthetic  critic's.  But  his  temperament  partakes  too 
largely  of  the  lymphatic  element  for  that  sparkling  vivacity  which  alone 
makes  talent  acceptable  or  agreeable  to  the  social  world.  He  is,  in  a 
word,  a  little  too  ponderous  for  contemporary  success.  Hereafter,  when 
His  beautiful  spirit  is  disembodied  of  its  earthly  form,  and  those  steady 
eyes  and  shaggy  locks  are  transmuted  to  the  spiritual  adornments  of 
a  spiritual  head,  he  will  look  down  with  a  half  disdainful  smile  at  the 
appreciation  which  posterity  will  bestow  upon  his  works,  and  wonder 
why  his  contemporaries  could  not  understand  them  as  well.  He  is  one 
of  the  few  men  who,  never  striving  to  be  ahead  of  the  age,  really 
deserves  to  be  so.  In  his  personal  relations  he  is  of  the  best  and 
wisest.  We  never  heard  that  he  had  an  enemy,  and  we  know  that  all 
who  are  permitted  to  be  acquainted  with  his  life  and  character,  love  him 
with  a  true  and  disinterested  affection.  And,  in  thus  summing  up  my 
:;uate  of  the  man,  I  need  not  say  that  I  am  not  endorsing  his  opi- 
nions. Many,  of  them,  however,  are  also  mine  ;  but  with  his  political 
prejudices  and  partizan  proclivities,  as  well  as  those  of  his  father-in-law, 
I  beg  to  disclaim  all  affinity. 


HALLOCK    A--->  :OOKS.  8? 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     JOURNAL     OF     COMMERCE GERARD     M.     HALLOCK THE     EXPRESS 

JAMES    AND    ERASTUS    BROOKS FREDERICK    HUDSON     AND    THE    HERALD 

EDITORS. 

The  "Journal  of  Commerce  "  is  one  of  the  most  important  commer- 
cial papers  in  New  York,  and  has  already,  to  a  great  extent  taken  the 
place  of  some  of  its  older  rivals.  It  has  always  been  distinguished  for 
consistency  and  bluntness,  in  its  independent  expression  of  .opinion  upon 
all  political  subjects,  and  for  the  reliability  and  general  fairness  of  its 
statistical  and  other  information.  Seldom  has  it  on  any  occasion  been 
betrayed  into  an  erroneous  statement,  and  it  is  in  all  re3pects  a  model 
of  candid  and  judicious  management.  Its  principal  editor  was  the  late 
Mr.  Gerard  Hallock,  an  intense  old  fogy  with  a  spice  of  fun,  sarcasm 
and  absolute  jollity  in  his  composition,  quite  amusing  and  refreshing. 
Seated  on  his  high  stool,  his  feet  at  least  two  feet  from  the  floor,  his  hat 
drawn  tightly  on  his  head,  and  his  ears  laid  back,  and  shoulders  shrugged 
up,  he  scribbled  away  from  morning  till  noon,  little  paragraphs  of  all 
sorts,  statistical,  witty,  philosophical,  political,  everything  that  turned  up. 
He  had  no  out-of-door  influence,  and  was  very  little  seen  beyond  the 
precincts  of  his  tanctum.  He  was  a  pretty  far-seeing  writer  of  his  class, 
and  understood  the  interests  of  trade  and  commerce  thoroughly,  and 
defended  them  with  ability.  The  Journal  is,  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
term,  a  respectable  paper,  and  its  influence  is  yearly  growing  stronger 
It  is  a  firm  friend  of  the  Constitution  and  its  compromises,  and  has 
always  done  full  justice  to  the  South. 

The  "Express,''  with  its  morning  and  evening,  and  sixteen  after 
"  edishings,"  has  had  a  hard  fight,  and  is  now  but  just  beginning  to  reap 
the  reward  of  its  industry  and  perseverance.  The  editors,  James  and 
Erastus  Brooks,  are  men  of  fine  talent  and  shining  qualities.  Mr. 
James  Brooks  was  for  some  time  a  representative  in  Congress,  and  on 
all  occasions  acquitted  himself  in  an  independent,  manly,  and  straight- 


88  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

forward  manner.  No  man  in  Congress  was  more  popular,  either  in 
Washington  or  among  his  constituents !  and  he  has  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  proved  that  his  integrity  to  his  party  and  his  country,  was  not 
a  purchasable  commodity,  but  sprang  indigenously  from  the  soil  of  Iris 
very  heart.  Beside  the  two  Messrs.  Brooks,  the  other  principal  editor 
of  the  Express,  is  James  F.  Otis,  formerly  a  poet  of  considerable  distinc- 
tion, and  now  an  indefatigable,  sprightly  paragraphist,  reporter  and 
general  critic.  He  is  one  of  the  most  popular  out-door  editors  we  have 
in  New  York  ;  is  always  "  about "  whenever  there  is  anything  going  on, 
and  for  his  lively  qualities  in  social  life  is  sought  for  on  all  occasions  of 
good  companionship.  His  incessant  occupations  on  the  innumerable 
editions  of  the  journal  to  which  he  is  attached,  renders  all  serious  and 
continuous  effort  of  his  mind  hopeless,  and  he  is  one  of  a  thousand 
instances  of  a  fine  genius  being  wasted,  frittered,  and  squandered,  for 
want  of  time,  opportunity,  and  compensation,  to  justify  its  higher 
exercise.  Like  the  great  body  of  us  poor  scribblers,  he  is  obliged  to  eke 
out  his  salary  by  contributions  of  hasty  value  to  all  sorts  of  papers,  and 
by  any  kind  of  temporary  literary  labor  that  turns  up.  But  he  is 
always  in  a  good  humor,  and  always  apparently  contented  with  himself, 
the  world,  and  everybody  around  him. 

The  office  which  employs  the  greatest  number  of  subordinates  is  the 
Herald.  At  the  head  of  them,  and  of  Mr.  Bennett's  editorial  assistants, 
and  in  his  absence,  of  the  entire  establishment  up  stairs,  is  Mr.  Frederick 
Hudson,  the  most  invaluable  and  indefatigable  of  journalists,  ^jho,  to  the 
experience  of  many  years  in  the  higher  departments  of  his  profession, 
adds  every  mental  requisite  to  the  creation  of  a  finished  specimen  of  the 
craft.  He  has  an  easy,  elegant,  and  striking  style,  readily  adapting 
itself  to  every  subject ;  arid  his  knowledge  is  both  minute  and  general  in 
an  unusual  and  surprising  degree.  His  acquaintance  with  foreign 
affairs,  and  the  current  history  of  Europe,  is  greater  than  that  of  any 
other  man  connected  with  our  press ;  and,  bating  that  he  lacks  somewhat 
of  courage  and  originality,  he  is  all  that  can  be  looked  for  in  a  journalist. 
His  brother  is  the  commercial  editor  of  the  Herald,  and  works  with 
great  industry  and  success !  but  as  we  never  read  money  articles,  money 
always  being  very  "tight"  with  us,  whatever  the  commercial  reporters 
may  say  about  its  being  "  easy  in  the  street,"  we  cannot  say  much  in 
detail  of  his  labors.  We  guess  he  is  at  least  as  honest  as  the  times ;  and 
as  the  Herald  is  very  rich  and  thinks  more  of  reputation  than  money, 
we  do  not  doubt  that  the  commercial  department  of  it  is  quite  as  reliable 
and  a  good  deal  more  extensive  than  that  of  any  other  journal  in  the 


THE    ATTACHES    OF    THE    HERALD.  89 

city.  Among  the  subordinates  attached  to  the  Herald  in  the  editorial 
department,  Dr.  Wallis,  of  South  Carolina,  occupies  an  important 
position,  and  contributes  extensively  to  the  political  department — assisted 
now  and  then  by  the  Hon.  Ex-Senator  Westcott,  whose  witty  and  bitter 
paragraphs  always  hit  exactly  where  they  are  aimed.  The  foreign 
editor  and  translator  of  modern  languages  for  the  Herald,  is  Mr.  Char- 
met,  an  accomplished  young  Frenchman,  who  succeeded  the  unfortu- 
nate Michel,  whose  body  was  recently  found  in  the  East  River. 


90  NEW   YORK   NAKED. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A  BATCH  OF  EDITORS    AS    THEY    RUN GEORGE  P.  MORRIS N.  P.  WILLIS 

C.    F.     BRIGGS THE     BEACHES BIRAM     FULLER C.     B.     BURKHARDT 

THE    SUNDAY  DISPATCH MIKE   WALSH THE    SUNDAY   ATLAS SOLOMON 

S.    SOUTHWORTH THE    "  SACHEM." 

Let  us  take  our  stand  on  the  "  Herald  "  corner  this  bright  summer 
morning,  and  catch  the  editorial  fish  as  they  swim  along  from  up  town 
to  their  respective  dens  and  hiding  holes  for  the  day.     They  will  be  sure 
nearly  all  of  them,  to   run   by  in   the   course   of  half  an   hour  or  so. 
And,  by  the  way,  there  is  one  of  them  poking  his  nose  round  the  corner 
this  very  moment.     What  would  you  take  him  for  now,  that  spruce, 
well-dressed,  and  natty-looking  man,  rather  under  the  average  stature — 
about  the  height  of  Bonaparte — a  round,  jolly  face,  good-natured  mouth, 
a  twinkling  eye,  and  full  black  whiskers  ?     He  wears  his  hat  with  some- 
thing of  a  military  jaunt,  and  his  clothes  fit  him  as  if  they  had  grown 
to  him.     That  is  George  P.  Morris,  the  American  song  writer,  who,  not- 
withstanding  all   the   puerilities   that   himself  and    others   have  writ- 
ten to  his  disadvantage,  has,  in  one  way  or  another,  niched  himself 
among  the   national   poets   of  our   country.     General  Morris  has  been 
an    industrious   and   faithful  worker   in   the   great   field   of  American 
literature.     By  his  indomitable  perseverance  and  incredible  sacrifices  was 
the  old  "  New  York  Mirror  "  established  and  carried  to  a  point  of  pros- 
perity scarcely  since  reached  by  any  New  York  weekly  literary  journal. 
In  its  pages  are  recorded  the  earliest  coruscations  of  some  of  the  bright- 
est ornaments  of  our  country's  literature.     Fay,  Willis,  Cox,  Paulding, 
Hoffman,  Drake,  and  many  others  of  our  best  known  names,  first  got  a 
foothold  on  the  steep  hill-side  of  fame,  under  the  patronage  of  General 
Morris.     As  to  his  own  claims  to  the  rank  of  a  poet,  we  shall  not  dis- 
cuss them  here.     We  are  determined  not  to  say  an  ill-natured  thing  in 
this  book — in  fact,  we  have  made  a  special  contract  with  our  publishers 
to   fill   it   with   the   milk   of   human   kindness   and   the   molasses   of 


MORRIS   AND    WILLIS.  91 

indiscriminate  praise.  At  all  events,  General  Morris  has  been  success- 
ful; and  if  we  cannot  agree  with  the  verdict  of  public  opinion,  we 
had  rather  admit  our  own  want  of  taste  than  insinuate  that  General 
Morris  and  his  friends,  with  whose  warmest  opinions  in  his  favor  he 
entirely  agrees,  can  possibly  be  mistaken. 

The  co-editor,  and,  for   many  years,  the  inseparable  companion   ot 
General   Morris,   is   Mr.   N.   Parker    Willis,    whose   name    appears   at 
the  head  of  the  "Home  Journal,"  as  a  sort  of  lure" to  country  young 
ladies  of  a  sentimental   and  hysterical  turn.     It  has  been  Mr.  Willis* 
strange  and  curious  destiny  to  be  most  praised  for  that  of  which  he  had 
the  least,  and  most  abused  for  that  of  which  he  was  not  guilty.     The 
almost  sole  misfortune  of  Mr.  Willis  has  been  to  have  a  juster  apprecia- 
tion of  his  own  real  qualities  and  powers  than  other  men ;  and,  popular 
and  petted  in  turn,  by  many  circles  and  classes,  he  has  imbibed  the 
unfortunate  opinion  that  the  esteem  of  the  world  at  large  is  not  worth 
the  trouble  of  striving  for,  and  has  acquired  a  distaste  for  those  healthier 
and  manlier  exhibitions  of  talent  and  genius  which  command  the  uni- 
versal  admiration  and  respect  of  mankind.     The  lamentable  result  of 
this  has  been,  not  merely  that  Mr.  Willis  is  an  egotist  and  a  trifler  in 
literature,  but   that   he   is   satisfied  with  the  appreciative  applauses  of 
the   small   circle   in  which   he  moves,  and   has,  at   length,  convinced 
even  his  warmest  admirers,  that  he  does  not  possess  the  intellectual  power 
to  carry  out  the  career  of  which  his  early  efforts  gave  promise.     He 
has,  unquestionably,  written  some  beautiful  poetry,  and  much  pretty  and 
conceited  prose,  some  of  which  is  quite  exquisite.     But  it  is  all  frag- 
mentary, prophetic,  unsatisfactory,  except  as  prognostic  of  future  excel- 
lence ;  while,  when  we  look  for  the  consequence  of  this  fertile  promise, 
we  find  but  a  continuation  of  the  same  artificial  and  superficial  trifling, 
which  mocks  the  hope  and  tantalizes  the  heart.     We  know  well  that  Mr. 
Willis  has  pursued  this  course,  and  arrived  at  this  determination,  through 
a  careful,  steady,  and  closely  pursued  policy,  the  policy  of  egotism  ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  we  feel  indignant  at  the  conclusion  upon  which  he 
has  ventured,  and  wish  he  had  chosen  to  strive  for  greatness  rather  than 
an  unbounded  reputation  for  aristocracy,  at  which  all  who  know  his  real 
position  profoundly  laugh.     To  be  the  editor  of  a  ladies'  weekly  journal, 
striving  to  make  the  uninitiated  think  him  the  pet  of  a  parvenu  aristo- 
cracy, is  an  ignoble  fate  for  one  whose  natural  stature  was  "  taller  than 
he  might  walk  beneath  the  stars.'7 

But  we  have  permitted  ourselves  to  become  too  much  absorbed  in  our 
curly -headed  and  blue-eyed  poet,  and  fear  that  several  of  the  smaller  fish 


92  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

have  run  by  undetected.     Let  us  see.     No — tnere  goes  Carlos  Stuart, 
also  a  poet  and  editor.     Formerly  he  used  to  stir  up  the  lower  stratum 
of  tke  population  by  his  terrific  leaders  on  the  revolution  in  Cuba,  and  in 
favor  of  penny  postage,  in  the  "Daily  Sun."     Now  he  makes  up  statisti- 
cal paragraphs  for  the  "National  Democrat,  we  believe.     Just  behind 
him,  turning  into  the  "  Sun  "  office,  are  the  Brothers  Beach,  two  indus- 
trious men,  who  through  their  widely-circulated  paper,  the  "  Sun,"  exert 
an  influence  upon  the  lower  side  or  under-crust  of  public  opinion  almost 
incredible.     The  reason  of  the  unbounded  and  unparalleled  success  of 
the  "Sun"  is  simple,  but  it  is  a  reason  too  often  overlooked  by  literary 
projectors.     Its  tone  is  strictly  adapted  to  the  intellect,  capacity,  and 
needs,  of  the  class  to  whoni  it  is  addressed.     They  all  take  it,  they  all 
like  it,  and  all  derive  advantages  from  it ;  and  it  is  to  these  gradual  imper- 
ceptible raisers  of  the  standard  of  intelligence  among  certain  classes,  who, 
by  stooping  almost  to  the  level  of  those  whom  they  would  elevate,  gain 
their  confidence  and  win  their  attention,  that  the  absolute,  practical  and 
real  progress  of  society  is  indebted.     They  may  not  themselves   even 
know  the  ultimate  height  to  which  the  race  is  tending,  but  they  work 
on,  still  earnestly  and  efficiently  in  the  present.    The  penny  press  of  this 
age  is  worthy  of  our  admiration  and  careful  study,  as  one  of  the  most 
important  and  powerful  institutions  of  the  times ;  and  the  men  who  con- 
duct it,  no   matter  how  unconscious  they  may  be  of  all  the  bright 
thoughts  and  golden  dreams  that  sometimes  seem  alone  worthy  of  our 
contemplation,  are  yet  doing  a  far  weightier  and  efficient  work  than  we. 
But  who  is  this  intellectual,  keen-looking  man,  coming  across  from 
Mercer's  ?     His  eye  looks  as  mild  and  gentle  as  that  of  a  child,  but  his 
face  has  the  devil  in  it.     You  may  be  sure  he  has. a  shrewd  biting  pen 
of  his  own,  and  that  there  is  one  particular  corner  in  his  ink-stand  that 
bubbles  up  a  perpetual  fountain  of  the  bitterest  gall.     This  however,  is 
all  professionally — personally  he  is  the  mildest-mannered  man  that  ever 
cut  a  literary  throat  or  crucified  a  professional   reputation ;    and  so 
entirely  unconscious  is  he  of  any  wrong,  that  he  cannot  really  see  how 
people  should  be  annoyed  at  a  mere  witticism,  as  he  calls  something  that 
takes  the  skin  off  his  victim.     This  is  Harry  Franco  Briggs — a  man  of 
a  most  original  and  inventive  imagination,  profound  critical  knowledge 
of  the  philosophy  of  art  Bud  the  belle-lettres,  and  as  completely  the  slave 
of  gigantic  prejudices  as  Faust  was  of  Mephistophiles.     They  say  he 
writes  for  "  Putnam,"  as  well  as  the  "  Sunday  Courier,"  and  that  he  v, 
the  author  of  the  gigantic  "  Bourbon  "  hoax.     Sometimes  we  see  ai  tie 
in  the  "  Evening  Mirror,"  which  must  have  proceeded  from  his  pen  ;  but 


BRIGG3 NICHOLS — PAGE — BURKHARDT.  93 

he  generally  disclaims  the  authorship  or  responsibility  of  its  articles,  and 
we  believe  that  the  majority  of  the  rude  and  malicious  flings  contained 
in  that  journal,  are  from  the  pen  of  its  chief  editor,  Hiram  Fuller.  Mr. 
Fuller  is  a  man  of  undeniable  talent  and  policy,  but  he  is  gangrened  with 
envy,  and  cannot  for  the  life  of  him  forego  an  opportunity  of  saying  a 
severe  or  bitter  thing  about  even  those  for  whom  he  possesses  the  warm- 
est friendship.  Mr.  Briggs  stopped  but  a  moment  at  the  "  Mirror n 
office,  probably  to  hand  in  a  paragraph  which  he  had  concocted  at  the 
expense  of  some  poor  devil  during  the  morning,  and  is  now  on  his  way 
to  the  Custom  House,  where  he  keeps  a  comfortable  berth  of  some  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  besides  waifs  and  strays.  In  addition  to  his  con- 
nection with  the  "  Mirror,"  whatever  it  may  be,  he  is  one  of  the  editors 
and  proprietors  of  the  "  Sunday  Courier,"  a  paper  which  has  worked  its 
way  up  within  the  last  three  or  four  years  to  a  large  circulation,  and  a 
high  position  among  the  Sunday  press.  To  the  judicious  management 
and  careful  business  knowledge  and  experience  of  Mr.  James  L.  Smith  is 
the  prosperity  of  the  "  Sunday  Courier  "  principally  owing. 

A  little  farther  up  the  street  a  middle-sized,  pale-complexioned,  and 
rather  bilious-looking  gentleman  has  just  gone  up  stairs  into  the  former 
office  of  the  "  Sunday  Mercury."  He  is  a  man  of  decided  talent  and 
cleverness,  but  is  also  afflicted  with  the  malignant  fever,  of  which  he 
has  been  for  several  years  one  of  the  most  conspicious  and  incurable 
cases.  If  Mr.  Samuel  Nichols  would  distil  into  the  columns  of  the 
"  Sunday  Mercury  "  merely  his  wit  and  genius,  and  omit  the  malice,  he 
would  make  it  the  most  popular  paper  of  its  class  in  the  city.*  His  part- 
ner, Dow,  Jr.,  in  other  words,  Mr.  Page,  of  Vermont,  has  in  times  past 
occupied  a  conspicuous  position  among  Sunday  journalists,  but  we  believe 
his  health  has  now  greatly  failed,  and  that  he  seldom  writes.  His 
"  Short  Patent  Sermons,"  published  in  the  "  Sunday  Mercury,"  are  really 
among  the  most  original  specimens  of  quaint  and  curious  literature 
extant.  They  gave  the  "  Sunday  Mercury  "  a  large  notoriety,  from  which 
it  has  not  yet  fairly  recovered,  although  to  say  truly,  its  efforts  in  that 
direction  have  neither  been  few  nor  feeble. 

Striding  down  Ann  street  yonder,  at  a  killing  pace — for  it  is  Saturday 
morning,  and  not  a  paragraph  yet  written  for  to-morrow's  paper — is  C. 
B.  Burkhardt,  one  of  the  editors  of  the  "  Sunday  Dispatch,"  especially 
devoted  to  the  musical  and  dramatic  department,  and  one  of  the  few 
writers  among  us  on  those  subjects  whose  productions  are  not  ridiculous. 

*  We  regret  to  say  that  since  this  article  was  written  the  Sunday  Press  has  been  deprived  of  a 
valuable  member,  by  the  death  of  Mr.  N.,  resulting  from  an  accident  on  one  of  our  city  railroads. 


94  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

He  is  a  writer  in  other  departments  of  literature,  of  some  considerable 
distinction,  and  as  a  translator,  especially  from  German.  His  contribu- 
tions to  the  "  Sunday  Dispatch"  on  music  and  the  Opera  have  generally 
been  characterized  by  good  sense,  good  taste,  and  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  his  subject.  The  othtv  editors  of  the  "Dispatch1'  we  do  not  know. 
We  think,  however,  that  we  nave  tracked  in  its  strong-built  and  inde- 
pendent columns  the  footsteps  of  Mike  Walsh,  who,  when  he  is  himself, 
and  is  not  misled  nor  bamboozled  by  the  prejudice  and  humbug  of  those 
around  him,  is  one  of  the  strongest  and  faithfulest  writers  upon  subjects 
of  practical  and  public  reforms  that  we  have  in  our  city.  He  is  the  very 
antipodes  of  humbug,  pretension,  and  hypocrisy ;  and  his  hatred  of  these 
evils  has  become  morbid  and  little  short  of  a  monomania,  which  distorts 
his  otherwise  useful  public  life,  and  perverts  the  manliness  of  his  talent 
and  genius.  With  a  little  practical  common  sense,  Mike  Walsh  would 
have  inevitably  been  one  of  the  first  men  of  his  day ;  for  lack  of  it,  he 
threatens  to  become  the  last.  However,  the  "Dispatch"  is  controlled 
entirely  by  the  stringent  judgment  and  discreet  experience  of  Mr.  Wil- 
liamson, its  sole  owner  since  the  death  of  the  gifted  and  unfortunate 
William  Burns ;  and  its  columns  are  remarkable  for  the  intrepidity,  and 
yet  discretion,  with  which  they  are  conducted. 

There  are  the  Siamese  Twins,  the  Castor  and  Pollux  of  Sunday  jour- 
nalism— the  proprietors  of  the  oldest  Sunday  paper  in  the  city,  and  for  a 
long  time  the  most  profitable — the  "  Sunday  Atlas."  Deacon  Herrick, 
of  Maine,  and  Mr.  Ropes,  of  New  York,  were  the  original  inventors  of 
that  paper  some  fifteen  years  ago ;  and  in  a  few  weeks  after  its  com- 
mencement, being  hard  pushed  for  five  dollars  to  buy  a  ream  of  paper, 
late  on  Saturday  afternoon,  to  print  their  next  morning's  edition  on,  they 
sold  out  a  third  of  the  establishment  to  Frederick  West.  In  a  few  years 
more,  the  paper  was  worth  a  profit  of  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars 
a  year,  and  still  continues  to  divide  very  nearly  that  sum  between  its 
proprietors — Mr.  West  having  some  time  since  sold  out  and  retired  from 
the  concern,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  out  and  injured."  The  present  condi- 
tion of  the  "Atlas"  and  its  past  prosperity  are  owing  entirely  to  the  care- 
ful economy  and  untiring  industry  of  its  two  proprietors ;  and  as  an 
illustration  of  the  indomitable  perseverance  which  characterizes  them, 
we  may  mention  that,  when  they  were  dismissed  from  the  Custom  House, 
and  for  months  since,  having  occupied  lucrative  posts  there  since  the 
Tyler  administration,  of  which  they  were  the  organs  in  this  city,  they 
felt  themselves  so  poor,  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  their  offices,  that 
they  immediately  went  to  work  as  compositors  on  their  own  paper — 


JULIE    DE    MARGUERITTES.  ,  95 

although,  we  suppose,  that  neither  of  them  is  worth  less  than  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  dollars,  besides  the  income  of  the  "Atlas."  The  other  editor 
of  the  "  Atlas  "  is  Solomon  S.  South  worth,  more  universally  known  to  the 
reading  public  as  "  John  Smith,  Jr.,  of  Arkansas ;"  under  which  sobri- 
quet he  has  contributed  profusely  for  the  last  twenty  years  to  the  press, 
in  various  j>arts  of  the  country.  He  is  one  of  our  best-informed  political 
writers,  and  has  done  good  service  to  many  political  characters  in  and 
out  of  station  ;  while  his  biographical  and  dramatic  contributions  to  the 
"  Atlas,"  and  other  papers,  are  always  pervaded  with  an  air  of  thorough 
acquaintanceship  with  the  subject,  with  everything  and  everybody  con- 
nected with  it,  with  its  past  history  and  present  condition,  which  make 
them  extremely  interesting.  The  peculiar  point  in  the  literary  character 
of  Mr.  Southworth  is  the  enormous  development  of  his  organ  of  ideality. 
When  he  sits  down  to  compose  a  history,  or  a  description  of  a  scene  or 
incident,  he  immediately  completes  it  in  his  imagination  in  all  its  parts — 
not  so  much  in  reference  to  what  it  is  or  was,  as  to  what  it  appears  to 
him  it  might  have  been,  or  should  have  been — and  then  proceeds  to 
narrate  with  the  most  imperturbable  gravity  that  which  he  has  con- 
ceived, with  all  the  minuteness  and  imposing  movement  of  indisputable 
fact.  This  he  sometimes  does  by  way  of  quizzing,  and  in  fact  has  addict- 
ed himself  so  much  to  burlesque  that  he  permits  that  style  of  narrative 
to  pervade  many  of  his  more  serious  efforts,  and  frequently  leads  those 
who  put  their  trust  in  him  into  the  most  ludicrous  and  embarrassing 
blunders.  This  curious  idiosyncracy  of  intellect  apart,  Mr.  Southworth 
is  an  agreeable  writer,  and  a  popular  and  good-natured  man.  He  also 
was  an  officer  in  the  Custom  House,  but  has  for  some  time  been  perma- 
nently and  publicly  associated  with  the  editorial  conduct  of  the  "Atlas." 
By  the  way,  we  noticed  just  now  coming  round  the  corner,  the  Cheva- 
lier Picton,  enveloped  in  the  most  barbarous  of  beards,  make  his  way 
up-stairs  into  the  "  Sachem"  office.  This  paper  is  edited  by  himself  and 
Dr.  Batchelder,  assisted  by  H.  W.  Herbert  and  Mr.  Foster.  The  dig- 
nified and  patriotic  tone  of  the  political  department  of  this  paper  gives  it 
a  wide  popularity,  especially  among  the  members  of  the  order  of  "  United 
Americans,"  whose  organ  it  is.  The  intelligent,  sprightly,  and  always 
just  criticisms  upon  music  and  the  drama  which  appear  in  the  "  Sachem," 
and  which  remind  one  of. the  vigorous  "  Vivian"  in  the  London  "  Leader," 
are  generally  supposed  to  be  from  the  pen  of  Madame  Julie  de  Margue- 
rittes.    Indeed  we  know  not  who  else  in  this  country  could  write  them 


96  NEW   YORK   NAKED. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  "WEEKLY  PRESS THE    LITERARY   WORLD CORNELIUS  MATHEWS E.  A. 

DUYCKINCK WILLIAM   S.    PORTER THE    ALBION HENRY   C.   WATSON 

LEWIS  GAYLORD  CLARK RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD RICHARD  WILLIS WALL 

STREET  JOURNAL. 

We  are  in  Nassau  street,  just  in  time  to  catch  the  editors  of  the 
"  Literary  World  "  on  the  way  to  their  office.  Look  carefully  at  that  small- 
sized,  happy-looking  man  in  spectacles.  That  is  Cornelius  Mathews,  the 
immortal  Puffer  Hopkins,  who  has  been  so  much,  and  so  virulently 
abused  for  faults  he  did  not  possess  and  overlooked  for  good  qualities  he 
did,  that  he  has  lost  in  his  own  case  all  sense  of  the  just  appreciation  of 
things,  and  feeds  his  vanity  at  the  expense  of  his  reputation,  while  in 
sheer  despite  of  those  who  have  told  him  of  his  faults,  he  aggravates 
them  to  an  inflammation  which  has  become  a  sort  of  moral  gout, 
converting  the  whole  man  into  one  immense  twinging  toe,  carefully  to 
be  nursed  and  defended  against  the  encroachments  of  marauding  or 
unconscious  boot  heels.  He  has  literary  talent,  invention,  and  imagina- 
tion, of  a  high  order ;  and  had  he  not  committed  the  fatal  mistake  of 
Betty,  who  wished  to  see  herself  ride  by  in  the  coach,  he  would  have 
been  among  the  most  honored  and  popular  of  our  American  authors. 
But  his  insatiate  and  suicidal  egotism  has  neutralized  half  the  effects  of 
his  talents  and  natural  gifts,  and  he  is  constantly  wasting  his  strength  in 
fighting  for  a  position  infinitely  lower  than  that  which  would  be  accorded 
him  by  universal  consent,  if  he  would  cease  to  fight  at  all.  We  see  with 
pleasure  that  he  is  becoming  more  and-  more  alive  to  the  truths  that  we 
have  here  had  the  courage  to  tell  him,  and  we  believe  the  time  will  come 
when  he  will  set  himself  seriously  to  the  fair,  and  honest  utterance  of 
that  which  is  within  him,  and  will  take  his  rank  among  the  best  and 
best  estimated  of  our  native  writers.  His  contributions  to  the  "Literary 
World  V  are  many  of  them  excellent ;  and  in  a  word,  that  paper  itself  is 
conducted  with  a  marked  ability,  and  discretion  which  has  imparted  to 
it  a  firm  and  enviable  reputation.     The  ostensible  editor  of  it  is  Evert 


HENRY    C.    WATSOX.  9T 

A.  Duyckinck,  ODe  of  the  finest  and  most  genuine  Knickerbocker  brains 
that  has  come  down  to  us  from  the  olden  time.  He  is  a  gentle  and 
appreciative  critic,  a  warm  and  devoted  friend,  and  a  gentleman  of 
polished  address  and  refined  manners.  His  criticisms  betray  good-nature, 
forbearance,  and  true  knowledge  of  his  subject,  and  he  is  one  of  the  best 
read  men,  and  altogether  the  most  admirable  off-hand  critic,  we  have 
amoncj  us. 

We  must  now  step  across  the  Park  and  pay  our  respects  to  some  of 
the  members  of  the  Saturday  weekly  press  who  burrow  in  that  region. 
Conspicuous  among  them,  and  among  all,  wherever  he  may  be,  either 
on  the  turf  or  at  the  bar,  in  the  bowling-saloon  or  midnight-revel,  is 
William  T.  Porter,  the  Tall  Son  of  New  York,  and  editor  of  that  world- 
renowned  repository  of  wit,  humor,  slang,  flash,  and  horse-talk,  the 
"  Spirit  of  the  Times."  He  who  knows  not  Wm.  T.  Porter  deserves  not 
to  be  known,  and  has  wasted  his  life  to  little  purpose. 

Xext  to  the  office  of  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Times,"  is  that  of  the  Albion, 
edited  by  a  retired  linen-draper  from  England,  whom  we  have  never  yet 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing.  We  have  broken  our  shins  over  three  or 
four  of  his  high-flying  tory  leaders,  in  stumbling  about  among  the  ample 
pages  of  the  Albion  in  search  of  friend  Watson's  searching  musical 
criticisms  and  Professor  Howe's  more  instructive  than  sparkling  articles 
upon  the  drama.  We  believe  that  both  these  gentlemen  have  now  re- 
tired from  the  Albion,  and  we  thus  miss  the  only  inducement  that  could 
possibly  prevail  upon  us  to  look  into  its  pages. 

There,  by  the  way,  goes  Harry  Watson,  one  of  the  best  musical  critics 
in  the  United  States.  He  was  born  and  educated  in  the  midst  of  the 
theatrical  and  musical  profession  in  London,  and  has  himself  thoroughly 
studied  not  only  the  science  of  music,  but  the  art  and  mystery  of  com- 
position. Having  heard  and  carefully  listened  to  all  the  great  artists, 
and  all  the  great  musical  solemnities,  of  the  great  British  capital  for 
several  years,  he  has  stored  a  naturally  appreciative  and  acute  mind  with 
all  that  may  be  known  on  the  subject  of  the  divinest  of  arts.  We  have 
carefully  watched  his  criticisms  wherever  they  have  appeared ;  and  we 
believe,  with  here  and  there  a  bias  of  personal  prejudice  to  which  all  are 
liable,  they  are  most  reliable  and  valuable.  We  must  confess,  however, 
that  they  would  possess  an  additional  charm,  were  they  a  little  more 
carefully  written ;  for  Watson  is  emphatically  a  slovenly  writer.  '"Tis 
true,  and  pity  'tis  'tis  true ;"  and  would  he  only  reform  himself  in  this 
respect,  his  literary  compositions  would  be  invaluable,  whatever  may  be 
the  fate  or  merit  of  those  musical  ones  which  under  the  name  of  polkas, 


98  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

marches  and  songs,  and  all  sorts  of  things,  are  lying  upon  the  counters 
of  our  music  stores  and  the  pianos  of  our  misses. 

Ho  !  hilloa,  there  Mr.  Phonographer  !  We  had  like  to  have  forgotten 
one  of  the  most  charming  and  delightful  members  of  our  great  profession, 
simply  because,  showing  his  face  but  once  a  month  in  the  grand  rush 
and  hurry  of  our  scrambling,  quotidien,  Broadway  existence,  his  dauger- 
reotype  was  erased  from  our  memory.  We  can  not  pardon  ourselves 
even  for  the  momentary  obscuration  of  our  field  of  vision,  which  led  us  to 
overlook  so  genial  and  good-natured  a  star  as  now  rises  upon  the  horizon. 
That  handsome  man  there,  with,  his  cane  and  unavoidable  bundle  of 
magazines  and  papers,  or  some  such  trash,  the  same  we  verily  believe  we 
encountered  some  ten  years  ago  on  the  sunny  side  of  Broadway  and 
thirty,  is  Lewis  Gaylord  Clark,  editor  of  the  monthly  "  Gossip  to  Readers 
and  Correspondents,"  and  haberdasher  general  of  the  small  wares  that 
fill  the  other  pages  of  that  literary  china-shop,  the  "  Knickerbocker 
Magazine."  But  the  "  Gossip  "  has  preserved  the  whole  concern  from  the 
otherwise  too  perceptible  odor  of  an  old  fogyism,  that  would  ere  now 
have  buried  it  full  fifty  fathoms  deep  in  the  Cypress  Hills  of  literature — 
while  its  poor  ghost  would  have  been  bankrupt  of  sufficient  assets  to  pay 
the  mild  taxation  of  the  board  of  directors,  for  the  privilege  of  screaming 
to  the  midnight  wind  its  gibbering  apostrophes  to  the  trees  of  that 
ghostly  region.  The  genius  of  Clark  is  not  sporadic  and  individual,  so 
much  as  it  is  general  and  epidemic.  It  is  a  sort  of  intellectual  amber,  in 
which  long  and  short  straws,  and  other  worthless  fragments,  are  preserved 
and  made  precious  and  beautiful.  We  look  forward  every  month  to  his 
sparkling  "  Gossip  "  with  as  insatiable  an  anxiety  as  for  Blackwood  him- 
self; and  long  may  he  preserve  that  inexhaustible  fund  of  gay  spirits 
and  happy  humor,  which  renders  him  the  favorite  of  the  domestic  circle, 
the  friend  and  playmate  of  all  good  children  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact,  and  the  well-beloved  brother  of  all  the  members  of  his  profes- 
sion! 

There  goes  by,  Dr.  Hufus  W.  Griswold,  whose  name  is  as  familiar  to 
the  American  reader  as  that  of  Dr.  Watts — not  so  much  for  what  he  has 
done  himself,  as  for  his  presentation  of  the  works  of  others.  It  is  fortu- 
nate to  the  cause  of  bibliography  that  his  talents  took  the  peculiar  turn 
they  did — as  his  laborious  and  incessant  researches  into  the  history  of 
the  literature  of  this  country  have  made  him  the  American  Sismondi, 
and  have  contributed  to  the  archives  of  American  literature  more  valua- 
ble materials  than  it  otherwise  possesses  altogether.  Still,  to  the  mere 
reading  public,  the  absolute  devotion  of  his  life  to  those  pursuits  is  a 


RUFUS    GRISW0LD    AND    RICHARD    WILLIS.  39 

subject  of  regret ;  for,  say  what  we  may  of  the  errors  and  prejudices  of 
Rufus  W.  Griswold,  yet  there  are  few  men  who  are  possessed  of  his 
natural  abilities,  or  endowed  with  a  more  exquisite  sensibility  and  a  more 
sustaining  enthusiasm.  Had  he  early  developed  his  sense  of  self-reliance 
he  might  have  risen  upon  his  own  isolated  merits  to  an  enviable  height 
in  literature ;  while  at  present  he  must  content  himself  with  being- 
adjudged  its  most  faithful  historian  and  most  appreciative  critic. 

Another  weekly  paper,  professedly  devoted  to  music  and  the  fine  arts, 
is  the  "  Musical  Times,"  edited  by  Richard  Willis,  brother  of  N.  P.  It 
is  made  up  principally  of  re-hashed  German  transcendentalisms,  and 
puerile  speculations  on  abstruse,  exploded,  or  ridiculous  theories. 
Richard  Willis,  in  boyhood,  was  taken  up  as  the  pet  of  a  set  of  literary 
old  maids,  and  pronounced  to  be  a  great  musical  genius.  They  even- 
tually persuaded  Mr.  Jonas  Chickering  to  send  him  to  Europe,  to  become 
a  great  composer.  He  went,  and  immured  himself  for  two  or  three 
years  in  a  small  town  in  Germany — never  even  visited  either  Italy  or 
France — and  came  back  the  weakest  dish  of  milk  and  water  that  ever 
was  skimmed.  As  the  results  of  his  studies,  and  the  sole  efforts  of  his 
gigantic  genius,  he  has  produced  four  waltzes  and  a  set  of  polkas — the 
equal  of  which  can  be  improvised  by  any  tolerably  educated  young  lady. 
Richard — poor  Richard — has  all  the  self  conceit  of  his  brother,  N.  P., 
without  any  of  his  genius. 

The  "Wall  Street  Journal,"  edited  by  Mr.  Robinson  (not  Wm.  E.  of 
sausage  notoriety),  is  a  very  spirited  and  useful  chronicle  of  financial 
movements,  operations  in  real  estate,  <fcc,  &c,  and  often  contains  piquant 
and  well  considered  hints  on  other  topics  of  current  interest. 

TJiere  are  several  other  weekly  publications  in  New  York,  but  not 
possessed  of  any  very  marked  characteristics.  With  the  religious  press 
it  is  not  our  intention  to  meddle,  at  present. 


109  NEW     YORK    NAKED 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  HERALD  AND  ITS  INFLUENCE WASHINGTON  IRVING GEORGE  BAN- 
CROFT  R.  H.  STODDARD DR.  MAYO GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK RICH- 
ARD   B.    KIMBALL GEORGE    BUSH HENRY    JAMES DR.     E.    H.    DIXON 

DR.    E.    E.    MARCY. 

For  some  years  it  was  the  custom,  especially  with  all  unsuccessful 
journals  and  writers,  to  sneer  at  and  abuse  the  "  Herald."  But  gra- 
dually, as  the  fact  became  more  and  more  apparent  that  it  was  entirely 
beyond  their  reach,  we  hear  no  more  of  their  criticisms  and  complaints ; 
and  the  "  Herald "  is  now  spoken  of  as  an  "  established  institution," 
with  which  nobody  can  afford  to  quarrel. 

The  reputation  of  the  "  Herald  "  is  world-wide.  Wherever  men  read 
or  care  for  news — wherever  civilization  has  an  agency  or  an  outpost,  or 
wherever  the  great  Anglo-Saxon  and  Anglo-Arnerican  races  are  known — 
the  "  Herald  "  is  a  recognized  authority.  No  other  paper  in  the  world, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  "  Times "  of  London,  can,  in  any 
degree,  compare  in  extent  and  universality  of  reputation  with  the 
"  New  York  Herald."  This  has  been  brought  about,  solely  and  exclu- 
sively, by  the  unusual  talents,  foresight,  and  perseverance  of  James  Gor- 
don Bennett — a  man  who,  assailed  in  every  manner  and  by  every  device 
that  envy  and  malice  can  contrive,  in  wreaking  themselves  upon  the 
object  of  their  hate,  exercises  at  this  moment  a  more  important  influence 
upon  public  opinion,  and  even  upon  the  legislative  and  congressional  dis- 
cussions, which  result  in  the  laws  by  which  the  community  is  governed, 
than  all  the  other  newspaper  writers  of  the  country.  The  party  press 
must  be  measured  by  states  and  sections,  if  we  would  compare  its  influ- 
ence with  that  of  the  "New  York  Herald."  By  its  great  wealth  and 
illimitable  resources  for  obtaining  every  species  of  information,  and 
employing,  if  not  the  highest  order  of  talent,  at  least  the  greatest  amount 
of  enterprize,  in  every  department ;  by  the  completeness  of  its  business 
regulations  and  the  untiring  energy  that,  emanating  from  the  central 


'-*!•! 


HONESTY    AND    INCORRUPTIBILITY    OF   THE    N.    Y.    HERALD.  101 

brain  of  the  establishment,  controls  every  movement,  he  has  it  in  his 
power  to  bring  upon  any  given  point,  at  a  moment's  notice,  an 
amount  of  argument  and  persuasion,  illustrated,  as  it  is,  by  an  impreg- 
nable array  of  facts,  which  is  perfectly  overwhelming.  This  very  posi- 
tion, too,  secures  the  "  Herald "  from  the  common  and  too  frequently 
deserved  charge  of  venality  and  corruption,  so  incessantly  hurled  against 
the  press,  and  more  than  half  neutralizing  the  good  it  should  accom- 
plish. While  other  journals,  making  lofty  professions  of  honesty  and 
incorruptibility,  feigning  to  look  with  disdain  and  horror  upon  the  terri- 
ble "  Herald,"  can  be  bought,  body  and  soul,  boots  and  breeches,  for  a 
few  dollars,  the  wealthy  "  Herald  "  can  afford  to  turn  up  its  nose  in  con- 
tempt at  all  efforts  at  bribery,  and  is  forced,  as  a  mere  matter  of  policy, 
to  be  independent.  We  say  what  will  be  readily  recognized  as  truth  by 
all  acquainted  with  the  operations  and  movements  of  the  press  in  New 
York,  when  we  declare  that  no  paper  in  the  city  is  .so  difficult  to  influ- 
ence or  bias,  or  to  be  brought  to  the  advocacy  of  any  certain  measure  or 
interest,  as  the  "  New  York  Herald."  Indeed,  we  cannot  well  see  how 
it  can  afford  to  be  venal.  The  time  may  have  been  when  it  was  less 
unpurchasable.  Of  that,  we  know  nothing ;  but  we  do  know  that,  while 
having  purchased,  over  and  over  again,  for  a  mere  pittance,  not,  in 
the  most  exorbitant  instance,  exceeding  two  shillings  a  line,  the  editorial 
endorsement  of  several  very  self-righteous  papers,  the  "  Herald "  has 
steadily  refused  large  sums,  and  the  most  flattering  inducements,  for  its 
advocacy  of  that  which  it  would,  perhaps,  voluntailry  have  advocated  if 
left  alone.  When  we  say  that  the  opinions  of  other  papers  have  been 
purchased,  we  do  not  mean  it  in  a  very  derogatory  sense.  We  do  not 
mean  that  they  have  been  bribed  to  advocate  crime,  vice,  or  error,  nor 
that  they  have  been  bought  off  from  attacking  men  or  institutions.  We 
simply  mean  that  their  publishers  or  editors  have  been  induced,  as  a  mere 
professional  matter  of  business,  to  employ  their  time  and  talents,  and  occu- 
py their  columns,  in  advocating  the  interests  or  explaining  the  advantages 
of  certain  matters  which  otherwise  they  either  would  not  have  noticed  at 
all,  or  else  would  have  dismissed  with  brief  and  common-place  edito- 
rial suavity.  In  this  we  confess  we  do  not  see  anything  heinously 
wrong,  so  that  the  editor  always  reserves  to  himself  the  right  and  the 
duty  of  advocating  nothing,  either  in  the  arts,  sciences,  literature,  or  in 
politics,  with  a  bad  tendency  or  a  dishonest  purpose.  The  greatest  evil 
experienced  from  this  kind  of  farming  out  the  editorial  opinion  to  the 
highest  bidder,  is  its  depreciating  effect  upon  the  character  and  estima- 
tion of  the  press  itself.     Because  the  puffs  and  commendations,  the 


102  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

♦  fulsome  eulogies  of  mediocre  artists,  writers,  actors,  and  public  perfor- 

mances and  exhibitions  generally,  are  powerfully  calculated  to  depress 
the  standard  of  public  taste  and  retard  the  progress  of  a  refined  and 
thorough  appreciation  of  the  arts.  In  this  sense  every  editor  who  writes 
one  word  of  praise  of  any  man,  woman,  or  thing,  not  strictly  in  his  naked 
judgment  just  and  well  deserved,  inflicts,  to  the  extent  of  his  power  and 
influence,  an  injury  upon  mankind.  But  this  is  a  logic  and  a  morality 
too  searching  and  too  close  to  be  applied  to  any  human  interest  or  insti- 
tution at  present  existing  on  earth.  The  lawyer  advocates  the  cause  that 
pays  him.  The  physician  clings  with  blind  zeal  and  murderous  fatuity 
to  the  venerable  errors  that  swell  his  fees ;  and  even  the  ministers  and 
servants  of  God  do  not  blush  to  adapt  their  teachings  and  their  doctrines 
to  the  length  of  their  parishioners'  purses ;  and  if  one  of  them,  comfor- 
tably seated  among  his  small  and  humble  congregation  in  the  interior, 
who  never  dreamed  of  gilded  candlesticks  and  velveted  pews,  and  the 
Romanesque  paraphernalia  of  our  grand  cosmopolite  semi-Popish  tem- 
ples, receives  a  call  to  a  higher  field  of  labor  and  a  larger  salary,  his 
doctrines  and  tenets  expand  like  the  flower  of  a  bulbous  root  into  whose 
glass  the  impassioned  spinster  pours  a  vial  of  ammonia.  Therefore, 
although  we  must  admit  that  it  is  strictly  right  to  advocate  nothing  for 
•  pay  which  an  editor  would  not  naturally  advocate  without  it,  we  must  at 

the  same  time  confess  that  while  human  nature  and  society  are  con- 
ducted upon  their  present  systems,  which  compel  every  man  to  depend 
upon  the  pecuniary  results  of  his  own  individual  efforts  for  the  adequate 
support  of  himself  and  family,  so  long  will  money  secure  the  favor,  the 
advocacy,  and  the  endorsement,  of  the  various  organs  and  oracles  of 
public  opinion. 

We  have  now  rapidly,  yet  faithfully,  sketched  the  principal  personages 
connected  with  journalism  in  New  York.  We  have  estimated  their 
various  talents  and  genius  as  nearly  as  we  could  as  if  we  had  no  personal 
acquaintance  whatever  with  any  one  of  them  ;  and  if  we  have  at  all  been 
influenced  by  our  own  feelings  in  respect  to  any,  it  has  been  by  making 
an  over  allowance  in  our  own  mind  for  the  possibility  of  being  influenced 
by  personal  dislike  or  indignation.  As  a  picture,  hastily  sketched  it  is 
true,  of  the  state  and  condition  of  the  New  York  Press  at  the  present 
time  this  chapter  possesses  an  intrinsic  value,  belonging  by  no  means 

/  either  to  the  author,  or  to  any  skill  he  may  have  exerted  in  producing  it. 

I  We  cannot  more  appropriately  bring  this  portion  of  our  work  to  a  close 

than  by  a  brief  mention  of  other  distinguished  characters,  both  male  and 
female,  who  belong  to  the  world  of  letters  and  are  yet  not  actually  con- 


IRVING — BANCROFT — STODDARD.  103 

nected  with  the  public  press.     Of  these  is,  and  for  a  long  time  has  been, 
Washington  Irving,  who,  although  now  verging  close  upon  the  Scripture 
span  of  life,  still  bears  in  his  lineaments  those  pleasant  and  refreshing 
traits  of  innocence  and  real  benevolence,  illuminated  by  genius  and  ima- 
gination, which  shine  so  gloriously  through  all  his  works.     He  has  still, 
despite  his  years,  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  engaging  faces  you 
will  meet  with  in  the  city.     His  smile  is  still  full  of  sunshine,  and  the 
grasp  of  his  hand  as  cordial  and  warm  as  in  early  youth.     At  least  so 
they  say  who  know  him.     We  have  only  seen  him  from  a  distance,  and 
admire  him  as  we  admire  the  steady  shining  star  that  looks  each  night 
into  our  window  with  its  cheerful  and  pleasant  ray.     Mr.  Irving  is  a  shy 
and  retired  man,  and  in  general  society,  into  which,  however,  he  very 
rarely  goes,  says  little,  and  shrinks  from  those  attentions  that  all  are  ever 
so  anxious  to  pay  the  brightest  and  worthiest  ornament  of  American 
literature.     We  once,  some  years  ago,  secreted  ourselves  in  the  office  of 
the  Union  Place  Hotel,  to  get  an  innocent  glimpse  of  Geoffrey  Crayon 
as  he  passed  along  the  hall  on  his  way  to  the  studio  of  Charles  Martin, 
who  has  had  the  honor  of  creating  for  posterity  the  one  portrait  of  the 
historian  of  his  native  state,  by  which  he  will  be  known  to  after  ages. 
Irving  still  walks  firm  and  briskly,  and  betrays  few  or  none  of  those  pain- 
ful premonitories  that  speak  the  disenchanting  approach  of  age.     Long 
may  the  sunshine  from  his  honest  heart  and  glorious  brain  illuminate 
that  noble  and  benevolent  countenance !     He  is  the  patriarch  of  Ameri- 
can literature ;  and  when  he  departs  for  the  spiritual  world,  his  tribe,  his 
race,  and  mankind,  will  have  lost  one  of  their  most  valuable  ornaments. 

Another  visiter  to  the  rooms  of  the  artist  we  have  named,  who  has 
become  the  acknowledged  painter  of  distinguished  men  and  lovely 
women,  is  the  Hon.  George  Bancroft,  a  slim  and  in  every  way  com- 
monplace-looking man,  whom  you  would  as  soon  suspect  of  spinning 
ribbons  out  of  his  mouth,  as  histories  and  grand  literary  achievements 
out  of  his  brain.  He  lives  in  the  vicinity  of  Union  Square,  in  a  state  of; 
elegant  retirement ;  and  say  what  they  will  of  the  ingratitude  of  the 
world  towards  men  of  letters,  he  is  a  conspicuous  instance  of  the  high 
value  of  respectable  mediocrity  in  literature,  when  attended  by  shrewd- 
ness in  business,  and  industry  in  private  diplomacy. 

I  met  yesterday  in  the  Park  a  former  crony  of  Bayard  Taylor,  a 
juvenile  iron-founder,  or  something  of  that  sort,  by  the  name  of  R.  H. 
Stoddard,  who  has  an  imagination  as  glorious  as  the  big  ladlesfull  of 
melted  pig  metal  that  they  pour  into  those  moulds  in  the  manufacture  of 
cooking-stoves,  and  whose  fancy  is  a  great  deal  more  delicate  and  exube- 


104  NEW     YORK    XAKED. 

rant  tnan  those  beautiful  devices  whicli  appear  on  the  front  plates  of  the 
stoves  aforesaid.  He  has  in  reality  moulded  some  of  the -neatest  and 
sweetest  verses  in  the  language ;  and  we  think  he  would  be  doing  us  all 
a  great  service  by  forsaking  the  ladle  and  clinging  to  the  pen,  and  by 
exchanging  the  streams  of  melted  metal  for  strains  of  melting  sentiment. 
Now,  Stoddard,  don't  you  dare  to  get  into  a  white  heat  over  this  cast 
that  I  am  taking  of  you,  and  let  the  rosy  current  of  indignation  overflow 
the  melting-pot  of  your  heart,  and  rise  to  your  cheeks,  or  emit  sparks 
from  your  eyes.  You  know  you  are  the  very  Benvenuto  Cellini  of  foun- 
ders, without  his  brass,  and  the  sooner  you  leave  off  founding  cooking- 
stoves,  and  commence  founding  your  own  reputation,  the  sooner  you  will 
begin  to  convert  your  pot-metal  into  gold  and  silver.  Give  up  your  iron 
founding  and  your  Custom  House,  and  become  famous.   * 

Yonder  goes  Dr.  Mayo,  the  author  of  "  Kaloolah,"  and  some  other 
equally  delightful  books.  "  Kaloolah  "  is  the  romance  of  a  dreamer,  a 
poet,  a  student,  and  a  man  of  the  world — lacking  somewhat  in  that  pro- 
bability of  incident  and  vraisemblance  of  characterization  that  imparts 
life  to  Cooper  and  Scott,  and  which  makes  us  swallow  down  without 
gulping  all  Herman  Melville's  delicious  lies.  "  Kajoolah  "  is,  however,  a 
work  of  exquisite  taste,  skill  and  fine  genius.  Mayo  is  a  lazy  man,  and 
loves  his  ease,  or  he  would  be  a  preeminent  one. 

That  short  rubicund  gentleman  you  see  yonder,  turning  into  Broadway, 
is  a  legitimate  descendant  of  the  old  Knickerbocker  race.     His  fathers 
were  contemporaries,  friends  and  counsellors  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  and 
his   illustrious   successors,    and   he   himself   fully   partakes   the   genial 
characteristics  of  those  people  and  those  times.     If  you  follow  him  up 
Broadway  you  will  find  him  turning  down  some  side  street  somewhere 
near  the  Hospital  and  entering  his  capacious  library,  stuffed  full  of  bo 
of  all  descriptions,  and  with  just  room  enough  on  his  centre  table  for  his 
portable  desk  to  lie  yawning  at  both  mouths  with   bundles   of  half 
swallowed  papers  and  memorandums.     Here  he  lives  and  sees  the  da 
and  years  glide  by  as  peacefully,  and  almost  as  thoroughly  abstracted 
from  all  the  real  and  everyday  interests  that  go  tramping  and  bustling 
around  Lira,  as  the  stone  St.  Paul  in  the  niche  opposite  the  Museum. 
Mr.  Verplanck  is  one  of  our  most  elegant  and  accomplished  scholars  and 
critics ;  has  written  many  valuable  contributions  to  our  literature,  and 
is  principally  known  to  the  outside  world  by  his  acute  and  appreciate 
criticisms  upon  Shakspeare.     He  is  not  an  ambitious  man,  in  the  broad 
sense  of  the  term,  and  is  satisfied  with  that  unquestioned  position,  and 
unreluctant    esteem    afforded   by   the   contacts   and   contingencies   of 


PROFESSOR    BUSH.  105 

domestic  and  social  life.     It  is  a  fault  in  him  that  his  ambition  is  not 
equal  to  that  of  many  less  worthy  to  entertain  so  noble  a  guest. 

But  we  must  step  across  the  street  to  pay  our  respects  to  Mr.  Richard 
B.  Kimball,  author  of  the  "  St.  Leger  Papers  " — one  of  the  most  remark- 
able philosophical  fictions  produced  since  the  Faust  and  Wilhelm  Meister 
of  Goethe.  It  is  profound,  startling,  enchanting ;  sometimes  brilliant, 
often  fervid  and  impassioned,  and  in  point  of  execution  is  a  model  of  that 
style  of  composition.  We  regard  it  as  a  real  misfortune  to  literature 
that  Mr.  Kimball  is  a  devoted  lawyer  and  man  of  business,  and  only 
finds  time  to  write  when  the  reactive  necessities  of  his  richly  endowed 
intellect  absolutely  require  that  sort  of  exercise  by  way  of  repose  and 
relaxation.  Mr.  Kimball  is  not  hereafter  to  be  a  stranger  in  the  field  of 
authorship,  but  may  be  numbered,  if  not  with  its  professional,  yet  among 
its  most  successful,  harvesters.  Mr.  Kimball  is  still  a  very  young  man, 
and  we  have  every  right  and  reason — now  that  through  the  blessings  of 
homeopathy  and  Dr.  Marcy  his  health  in  restored — to  predict  for  him  a 
long  and  brilliant  career. 

Do  you  see  that  tall,  white-haired,  intellectual-looking  gentleman,  slim 
and  somewhat  stoop-shouldered,  closely  wrapped  in  a  not  very  new  nor 
particularly  well-brushed  black  Spanish  cloak?  He  stops,  you  see,  at 
Sweeney's  eating-house.  It  is  about  dinner-time  at  that  aristocratic  esta- 
blishment, and  this  old  gentleman  is  a  regular  customer  there,  where, 
to  his  unsophisticated  taste,  the  plain  sixpenny  steak  and  mashed  turnips 
and  potatoes,  with  three  cents  worth  of  extra  bread  and  pickles,  is  as 
deliciously  and  completely  satisfying  to  his  appetite  as  if  he  were  eating 
at  the  Rocher  Cancale,  or  the  Clarendon  Hotel,  with  every  delicacy  ever 
conceived  by  Soyer  within  reach  or  call.  Little  recks  that  glorious  old 
man  what  he  eats,  or  where  he  eats  it,  or  what  he  wears,  or  how  it  is 
put  on.  But  his  face  is  humorous  with  the  spiritual  intelligence  within, 
that  gleams  through  his  serene  eyes  and  lights  up  every  lineament  with 
the  electric  flashings  from  the  spiritual  world,  whom  his  own  purity  and 
genius  have  attracted  close  about  him*.  That  is  George  Bush,  the  great 
expounder  of  the  doctrines  of  Swedenborg,  and  head  of  the  new  Jerusa- 
lem Church  in  this  country.  He  was  for  many  years  one  of  the  most 
eminent  Protestant  clergymen  and  Oriental  scholars  in  the  land  ;  and 
his  distinguished  and  unapproached  merits  in  both  these  departments 
are  -willingly  conceded  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other.  Every 
college  and  university  in  the  Union  echoed  with  the  sound  of  his  name 
and  the  splendor  of  his  scholastic  achievements  ;  while  the  purity,  the 
fervor,  and  the  moral  grandeur  of  his  private  life  surrounded  him  with 

7 


106  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

the  halo  through  which  the  darts  of  calumny  could  not  penetrate."  Led 
by  his  love  of  learning,  or,  we  would  feign  believe,  by  some  divine 
instinct,  specially  communicated  to  him  for  the  purpose,  be  at  lengtb 
encountered  the  giant,  Swedenborg ;  being,  perhaps,  in  all  the  ranks  of 
our  scholars,  and  philosophers,  and  divines,  the  only  living  man  capable 
of  standing  up  face  to  face  before  that  seer  and  prophet  of  a  new  dispen- 
sation, and  of  understanding  and  feeling  the  full  force  and  magnitude  of 
the  truths  contained  in  his  immortal  works,  or  of  imparting  them  intel- 
ligibly and  faithfully  to  the  common  apprehension  of  his  fellow-men. 
Accordingly,  with  the  simplicity  and  faith  of  a  child — appalled  at  no 
amount  of  labor  entailed  by  the  undertaking,  and  discouraged  by  no 
doubt  as  to  the  clearness,  and  purity,  and  truthfulness  of  his  own  concep- 
tions, the  labor  was  begun  and  faithfully  continued.  Herculean  as  it  is 
in  an  intellectual  point  of  view,  yet  has  Professor  Bush  found  it  but  a 
labor  of  love ;  and  his  translations  now  extant  of  the  writings  of  Sweden- 
borg will  live  for  ever  as  one  of  the  most  gigantic  monuments  of  human 
devotion,  perseverance,  and  scholarship.  Whatever  people  may  think, 
or  affect  to  think  of  the  peculiar  doctrines  contained  in  the  writings  of 
Swedenborg,  none  now  deny  the  surpassing  greatness  of  that  man's  intel- 
lect. And  the  philosophical  world  has  recently  found  itself  compelled  to 
award  him  as  elevated  a  station  in  the  world  of  science  and  natural  phi- 
losophy as  theologians  and  divines  had  already  conceded  him  in  that  of 
morals  and  religion.  Every  Sabbath,  Prof.  Bush  faithfully  and  eloquently 
expounds  some  portion  of  the  Scriptures  by  the  lamp  of  Swedenborg's 
inspirations,  to  a  select,  enlightened,  and  slowly-increasing  congre- 
gation, the  germs  of  an  entirely  new,  more  real,  more  practical  dispensa- 
tion of  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ — the  forerunner  of  that  millennial 
reformation  in  the  Church  of  God  upon  earth,  which  corresponds  spiritu- 
ally to  the  physical  and  moral  reforms  now  in  progress  toward  their  ful- 
fillment, and  both  of  which  must  as  infallibly  and  surely  come  as  the 
sun  continues  to  give  light  and  heat,  and  the  power  of  germination  and 
progress  to  the  physical  universe,  or  as  the  great  Central  Sun  Himself 
streams  forth  His  undying  love  through  the  remotest  bounds  of  infinite 
space.  Considered  in  any  light  we  will,  George  Bush  is  unquestionably 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  that  this  or  any  other  age  has  produced. 
Henry  James,  the  lecturer  and  writer,  well  deserves  his  place  here, 
however,  as  one  of  the  most  original  and  vigorous  thinkers  of  the  age. 
He  does  not  confine  himself  exclusively  to  the  doctrine  of  any  sect  nor 
individual ;  his  is  a  nature  too  orginal  and  creative  for  that; — yet  with 
such  variations  in  detail  and  scientific  form  as  depend  upon  his  peculiar 


HENRY   JAMES — DR.    HEMPEL.  10 1 

organization,  lie  adds  his  magnificent  strength  to  propel  forward  those 
grand  and  fundamental  ideas  of  the  harmony,  prosperity,  and  happiness 
of  the  unitary  race  of  men,  which  now  'swell  in  the  heart  and  inspire  the 
hopes  and  labors  of  all  true  spirits.     His  lectures,  some  of  which  have 
already  been  collected  and  printed,  are  among  the  most  startling,  pro- 
found,  and  original   productions  ever  submitted  to  the   public.     And 
although  Mr.  James  does  not  possess  a  fascinating  way  of  expressing  his 
ideas  and  seducing  the  reader  into  good  humor  with  what  he  is  about 
to  encounter,  yet  few  appreciative  minds  can  come  in  contact  with  the 
bold,  burning,  and  triumphant  logic  of  this  intuitive  reasoner  and  irresist- 
ible thinker,  without  undergoing  a  greater  or  less  change  or  perturbation 
from  his  usual  routine  of  contemplation.     Those  who  are  ripe  enough  to 
receive  the  seed  of  his  beautiful  thoughts,  instantly  become  converts  to 
the  glorious  ideas  he  promulgates ;    while  upon  the  less  mature  he  never 
fails  to  produce  an  impression  which,  sooner  or  later,  must  bring  them 
to  the  same  point  of  view  with  himself. 

Another  of  this  new  order  of  literary  and  philosophical  spirits,  by 
which  the  present  age  is  characterized,  over  all  tliat  have  preceded  it, 
is  Dr.  Hempel,  a  Homeopathic  physician  of  eminence  and  also  a  volum- 
inous and  eloquent  philosophical  writer.  He  is  an  impersonation  of 
the  highest  grade  of  the  German  mind  ;  and  probably  very  few 
brains  were  ever  created  so  full  of  beautiful  theories  and  symmetrical,  phi- 
losophical creations  as  his.  At  the  same  time  he  is  strongly  grounded 
in  all  the  great  fundamental  principles  of  the  reforms,  now  sweeping 
humanity  onward  in  its  career,  and  has  produced,  at  least,  one  work 
which  will  not  die.  This  is  his  book  showing  the  absolute  correspon- 
dence and  identity  of  the  doctrines  taught  by  Fourier  and  by  Sweden- 
borg,  and  proving  that  those  of  the  former  are  the  inevitable,  material 
and  physical  ultimates  of  the  later — that  Association,  as  taught  by 
Fourier,  is  the  scientific  resolution  of  the  great  problem  of  the  spiritual  life 
of  man  as  propounded  by  Swedenborg,  from  his  own  direct  experiences 
in  the  spiritual  world.  This  book  is  an  admirable  and  invaluable  study 
to  all  who  would  inform  themselves,  without  too  great  an  expenditure  of 
time  and  trouble,  of  the  leading  features  of  those  ideas  which  are  the 
origin  of  those  mysterious  and  startling  influences  every  where  bursting 
out  all  about  us.  The  medical  works  of  Dr.  Hempel  are  extensive  and 
extremely  valuable ;  consisting  as  they  do  not  only  of  his  own  original 
contributions,  to  the  science  of  Homeopathy,  but  of  the  most  careful  and 
laborious  translations  of  those  intricate  and  difficult  works  of  Hahnemann 
which  there  is  scarcely  another  writer  living  who  could  have  fairly  and 


108  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

faithfully  rendered  into  English.  Dr.  Hempel  is  still  quite  a  young  man, 
and  we  have  a  right  to  expect  much — and  much  that  is  valuable,  still 
from  his  powerful  and  prolific  pen. 

Another  medico-literary  man  of  altogether  a  different  genius,  but  suffi- 
ciently eccentric  and  sparkling  in  his  way,  to  detain  us  for  an  agreeable 
minute  and  a  half,  is  Dr.  E.  H.  Dixon,  the  trenchant  editor  of  the 
Scalpel,  whose  terrible  gashes  upon  the  bloated  and  corrupt  body  of  the 
old  school  of  medical  practice  has  let  out  more  fetor  and  corruption  than 
the  whole  profession,  from  Hippocrates  to  Mott,  have  ever  cured.  Dr. 
Dixon's  Scalpel — beside  being  one  of  the  most  amusing,  piquant  and 
lively  periodicals  that  has  made  its  appearance  in  the  world  since  Black- 
wood and  Kit  North — must  be  regarded  as  an  indispensable  seton 
established  in  the  medical  world,  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  poor 
patients'  body  politic  in  some  tolerable  state  of  health  and  purification. 
If  by  some  sudden  edict  all  the  periodicals  in  America  were  to  be  anni- 
hilated, with  one  exception,  and  the  choice  of  that  exception  were  left  to 
us,  we  certainly  think  we  should  be  compelled  to  choose  the  Scalpel. 
The  Doctor  himself,  personally,  is  as  odd  a  genius  as  his  periodical. 
Tall,  wiry,  and  with  a  powerful  bilious  and  muscular  organization,  he 
rushes  along  the  street  like  an  embodied  destiny,  or  the  Dutchman  with 
the  steam  cork  leg  that  would  not  stop.  His  small  gray  eyes  twinkle 
with  fun  and  humor  upon  the  slightest  provocation  ;  and  there  is  an 
unctuousness  in  his  very  tone  of  voice,  that  speaks  of  latent  jokes  and 
witticisms  held  in  solution  in  his  subdued  and  almost  cynical  tempera- 
ment, as  some  subtle  and  destructive  chemical  agent  is  concealed  in 
those  perfectly  harmless  bedbug  exterminators  upon  which  our  friend 
Lyon  makes  so  much  money  and  such  excellent  poetry  in  the  advertis- 
ing columns  of  the  Herald. 

We  must  leave  the  still  unexhausted  list  of  our  medical  writers,  with  a 
brief  mention  of  Dr.  E.  E.  Marcy,  author  of  the  most  popular  hook  yet 
written  in  explanation  of  the  theory  and  practice  of  Homeopathy,  and 
editor  of  the  able  Homeopathic  Quarterly  Review,  established  by  our, 
friend  Radde.  Dr.  Marcy  emigrated  but  a  few  years  since  to  New  York 
from  Connecticut ;  but  by  the  skillfulness  of  his  treatment  of  disease,  and 
the  unswerving  integrity  of  his  personal  character,  he  has  already  acquired 
a  commanding  position  in  the  field  of  medicine,  while  his  literary  produc- 
tions have  conferred  upon  him  a  distinguished  rank  among  the  medical 
authors  of  our  country.  He  is  still  among  the  youngest,  both  of  prac- 
titioners and  authors  ;  and,  deeply  imbued  with  the  importance  of  the 
cause,  he  has  sacrificed  all  minor  considerations,  all  love  for  beautiful  but 


H.    T.    TUCKERMAN.  10 J) 

unprofitable  theorizing,  to  its  interests,  and  devotes  himself  with  a  single- 
ness of  purpose  and  indomitable  perseverance,  to  a  career  which  truth 
has  marked  out  for  him  to  pursue,  that  must  terminate  in  placing  him, 
among  the  conspicuous  benefactors  of  his  race. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

H.  T.  TUCKERMAN J.  T.    HEADLEY D.  K.  MITCHELL MRS.  E.  OAKES    SMITH 

MRS.  CHILD MRS.  KIRKLAND. 

One  of  the  most  dreamy  and  voluptuous  faces  one  encounters  under  a 
hat,  in  his  walks  in  Broadway,  is  that  of  Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  a  Yankee 
by  birth  and  blood,  but  a  pure  Italian  of  the  most  delicious  dolce  far 
nientc  organization  in  sentiment,  character,  and  imagination.  He  lived 
some  years  in  Italy,  his  soul,  like  a  crystal  chalice,  drinking  in  the  balmy 
air,  and  sunny  life,  and  delicious  clime,  until  his  whole  nature  became 
imbued  with  its  subtle  incense  ;  and  now,  at  scarcely  forty-five,  returned 
to  the  busy  haunts  of  his  money-making  countrymen,  he  still  lives  the 
serene  and  tranquil  life  of  the  student  and  the  poet,  deaf  to  all  the  crash- 
ing turmoil  that  whirls  around,  and  feeding  his  heart  upon  those  splendid 
dreams  that  rise  and  expand  their  glittering  wings  only  from  out  the 
clear  and  undisturbed  fountains  of  the  heart.  As  he  goes  by,  wrapped 
in  his  Spanish  cloak,  and  with  his  speculative  eye  fixed  steadily  upon  the 
walk,  I  envy  him,  not  only  for  all  he  is,  but  still  more  for  all  he  is  not. 
Tuckerman  writes  only  when  he  has  the  will.  When  the  inspiration 
comes,  the  sibyl  speaks ;  otherwise  he  is  silent  and  muses  happy  and 
contented  till  the  fit  again  sweeps  over  him.  He  has  a  genial  fancy,  a 
tender  and  musical  style,  and  if  he  would  whip  and  spur  his  muse,  as 
we,  poor  insane  devils,  are  obliged  to  do,  would  be  the  first  in  the  race. 
But  he  has  fortunately  had  the  courage  to  accept  and  abide  by  a  hap- 
pier lot,  and  his  days  pass  serenely  in  peace,  his  eye  undimmed  and  his 
face  unwrinkled  by  care  and  commonplace  anxiety.  He  is  still  in  the 
very  prime  of  life,  and  we  hope  to  hear  glorious  things  of  him  ere  his 
first  half  century  is  over. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  threading  his  way  carefully,  yet 
swiftly  and  fearlessly,  ampng  the  omnibuses  and  vehicles,  is  a  man  of 
directly  the  opposite  temperament.  Full  of  enthusiasm,  of  fire,  of  deter- 
mination, ambition,  will,  genius  even,  he  is  ever  restless,  ever  hard  at 


110  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

work  at  something,  and  generally  to  a  most  excellent  purpose.  Say 
what  we  will  of  the  carelessness  and  slovenliness,  and  even  the  common- 
placeness  of  much  that  J.  T.  Headley  has  written,  yet  we  must  confess 
that  there  are  few  of  our  writers  who  may  ever  hope  to  achieve  the 
popularity  he  has  already  gained,  before  the  brightness  of  his  youth  has 
past.  When  his  imagination  becomes  mellowed  by  the  ripening  and 
strengthening  influences  of  time,  when  his  prejudices  are  soothed  and 
allayed,  the  bitterness  and  indiscretion  of  his  impulses  subdued,  and  the 
lights  and  shades  of  his  intellect  harmonized  to  their  proper  proportions, 
Mr.  Headley  must  produce  works  of  a  high  and  lasting  merit.  Much 
that  he  has  already  written,  interwoven  as  it  is  with  our  national  history, 
and  the  history  of  events  that  beacon  themselves  above  the  sea  of  time, 
must  be  immortal.  But  he  has  as  yet  by  no  means  done  his  best ;  and 
we,  as  well  as  all  the  world,  expect  much  from  him. 

Within  the  last  two  or  three  years,  a  young  man  of  the  more  aristo- 
cratic class  of  our  population,  possessing  family  position,  wealth,  and 
unblemished  reputation,  has  made  his  appearance  in  polite  circles,  and 
has  achieved  a  very  decided  sensation.  During  the  past  winter  he  has 
really  been  quite  a  lion  in  good  society,  and  the  pet  of  all  the  ladies  who 
either  are,  or  affect  to  be  fashionable.  He  has  not  borne  his  honors  very 
meekly,  but  has  splurged  considerably  upon  the  strength  of  his  new- 
fledged  wings — although  we  never  heard  that  he  was  either  impertinent 
or  ill-natured — and  that  is  more,  we  guess,  than  he  will  say  of  me  when 
he  reads  this  paragraph.  The  works  upon  which  he  chiefly  depends  for 
his  present  reputation  are,  the  "  Lorgnette,"  and  the  "  Reveries  of  a 
Bachelor."  They  are  elegantly  written,  and  betray  an  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  conventionalities  and  superficialities  of  society  ;  but,  either 
from  an  inability  or  disinclination  on  the  part  of  the  author,  they  do  not 
sound  the  depths  of  human  nature,  nor  contribute  much  to  the  stock  of 
original  ideas  afloat.  The  author  of  these  works  is  Mr.  D.  K.  Mitchell, 
otherwise  called  "Ik  Marvel,"  who  has  been  so  over-puffed  by  his  friends, 
and  so  neglected  by  the  rest  of  the  public,  that  he  is  greatly  puzzled  to 
know  exactly  where  he  stands — a  dilemma,  however,  from  which  his 
good  opinion  of  himself  threatens  to  rescue  him  in  the  most  agreeable 
manner.  He  is  quite  a  young  man,  a  little  of  a  coxcomb,  wears  straw- 
colored  kids,  and  mustachios,  and  uses  a  tortoise-shell  eye-glass. 

We  have  thus  rapidly  cast  our  eyes  over  the  broad  field  of  current 
literature  in  New  York,  and  furnished  our  readers  with  daguerreotype 
sketches  of  the  principal  laborers  therein.  A  few  we  have  probably  omit- 
ted ;    but  if  so,  it  is  from  ignorance  or  oversight.     Those  who  find  them- 


A   GLANCE    AT    OUR    FEMALE    AUTHORS.  Ill 

selves  in  this  category  will  have  the  kindness  to  forgive  us  for  our 
apparent  slight,  and  console  themselves  for  not  being  noticed  in  a  very 
little  book  like  mine,  by  getting  themselves  inserted  in  the  next  edition 
of  the  very  big  book  of  my  friend  Dr.  Griswold,  who  will  do  them  up  in 
the  most  elegant  manner  and  at  short  notice,  if  they  will  only  send  that 
prince  of  literary  diagnosticians  a  lock  of  their  hair,  or  a  paring  of  their 
thumb-nail. 

But  there  still  remains  a  small  and  perfumed  corner  of  this  somewhat 
sterile  field  where  bloom  the  roses  and  the  tulips,  the  pinks  and  pansies, 
the  daisies  and  buttercups  of  literature ;  and  to  this  sacred  precinct,  this 
seraglio  of  Apollo,  where  the  grand  Sultan  of  poetry  and  art  choicely 
keeps  his  ehoicest  beauties,  do  we  now  direct  our  steps. 

There,  ring  the  bell.  Titivate  your  hair  and  cravat.  Throw  open  the 
door,  and  boldly  enter  the  realm  of  blue-stockingdom.  Here,  seated  on 
chintz-covered  sofas,  or  lounging  in  groups  about  the  handsome 
apartments,  may  be  seen — or  at  any  rate  might  have  been  seen  before 
the  fair  hostess  became  a  lionne  at  Washington,  and  made  Congress  put 
her  in  the  appropriation  bill — the  leading  feminine  celebrities  in  the 
world  of  literature.  But  the  fact  is,  that  this  petticoat  Republic  of  Let- 
ters has  been,  since  the  visit  of  Miss  Bremer  to  this  country,  partially 
disbanded  and  broken  up,  and  each  of  its  members  has  established  a 
petty  sovereignty  on  her  own  book.  This  is  a  great  pity ;  for  the  charm- 
ing reunions  of  distinguished  men  and  women  that  used  every  week,  in 
the  winter  time,  to  take  place  at  the  house  of  our  philosophical  and  con- 
templative friend  were  a  nucleus  and  a  germ,  from  which  we  have  anti- 
cipated a  beautiful  and  kindly  growth  of  intellectual  and  social  influences. 
The  extremes,  or  outer  edges  of  the  two  sorts  of  society — the  intellectual 
and  the  money  circles — were  gradually  approximating  through  the 
influence  of  these  assemblages,  and  had,  in  fact,  in  several  instances 
positively  interlaced  and  become  fairly  united ;  but  we  know  not  whether 
it  was  from  rivalry  and  personal  misunderstandings,  or  from  the  fact  that 
literary  people  and  artists,  thus  left  to  themselves  and  thrown  entirely 
upon  each  other  for  their  conversational  resources,  unavoidably  found 
themselves  ennuyed ;  yet  so  it  is,  that  these  parties  have  become  heads  of 
the  ton,  and  the  elements  of  which  they  were  composed  are  scattered  far 
and  wide.  The  philosophy  of  feminine  literature  in  New  York,  however, 
is  well  worth  the  studying.  It  shows  that  female  labor  in  this,  as  well 
as  in  all  other  departments  of  industry  and  production,  is  but  slightly 
rewarded  in  comparison  to  that  of  the  other  sex,  both  in  pay  and  reputa- 
tion.     The  days  of  butterfly  magazinery  seem  to  be   approximating 


112  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

rapidly  to  their  close  ;  and  the  butterflies  who  created  and  embellished 
this  institution  are  disappearing  with  it.  It  may  be,  however,  that  we 
do  injustice  to  these  agreeable  and  interesting  beings,  and  that  we  only 
miss  them  from  the  literary  world  because  we  are  no  more  among  them 
and  of  them. 

Conspicious  among  the  living  literary  women  of  this  country  is  Mrs. 
E.  Oakes  Smith,  whose  graceful  minor  poems  are  well  known,  and  whose 
higher  and  more  sustained  efforts  have  manifested  the  possession  of  ima- 
gination and  genius.  We  think  her  forte  is  in  dramatic  writing,  and  we 
cannot  doubt  that  were  she  to  seriously  busy  herself  in  that  direction, 
she  would  meet  with  success.  Mrs.  Smith  is  among  the  boldest  and 
freest  of  her  sex's  thinkers  ;  and  some  of  her  articles  and  lectures  upon 
marriage,  female  labor,  and  the  general  relations  and  condition  of  women 
in  society  at  the  present  day,  have  excited  considerable  attention. 

A  noble  and  beautiful  illustration  of  female  goodness  is  quietly  letting 
go  by  her  useful  and  lovely  life  in  complete  and  voluntary  seclusion 
from  all  society,  save  that  of  a  circle  of  the  most  intimate  and  loving 
friends.  She  preserves,  in  the  full  experience  and  knowledge  of  mid-life, 
all  the  freshness  and  purity,  and  unconscious  vivacity  of  childhood ;  and 
that  she  so  sedulously  retires  from  all  common  associations  is  a  great  and 
positive  loss  to  society,  for  no  woman  we  have  ever  known  is  better  cal- 
culated, nor  more  fully  qualified  to  embellish  the  best  society,  and  impart 
value  and  meaning  to  the  conventionalisms  of  life,  than  Lydia  Maria 
Child.  Anchorite  as  she  is,  sometimes  an  extraordinary  occasion  brings 
her  from  her  seclusion ;  and  those  who  are  permitted  to  come  within  the 
magnetic  influence  of  her  glorious  spirit  never  forget  the  day  that  was  so 
bountiful  to  them.  Mrs.  Child  has  written  much,  but  always  carefully 
and  well,  and  always  with  a  steady,  firm  and  apparent  meaning.  Her 
philosophy  is  a  transparent  one,  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  as  beautiful.  It 
is  the  philosophy  of  love.  She  believes  that  God  created  all  things  from 
love,  and  sustains  them  by  love,  and  that  they  should  help  and  sustain 
each  other  by  love  alone.  Her  books  are  the  most  beautiful  of  sermons, 
and  her  whole  life  and  character  an  illustration  of  the  loftiest  and  most 
refined  religion.  Her  influence  upon  her  contemporaries  has  been  perhaps 
wider  and  greater  than  that  of  any  other  living  woman,  for  her  pleasant 
yet  unpretending,  her  logical  yet  utterly  unstrained,  arrangement  of 
subject  and  beauty  of  illustration,  are  as  precious  as  they  are  rare.  The 
works  of  Mrs.  Child  are  the  most  priceless  gems  in  the  great  mine  of 
female  literature ;  and  although  others  may  have  written  more  preten- 
tiously, and  exhibited  more  apparent  fire,  and  more  superfice  of  enthu- 


L.    MARIA    CHILD — CAROLINE   M.    KIRKLAND.  113 

siasm,  yet  nowhere  can  there  be  found  an  equal  development  of  the  truly 
beautiful,  the  truly  wise,  and  the  truly  good.  We  feel  a  thrill  of  pride 
and  pleasure  in  thus  recording  an  honest  and  faithful  opinion  of  the  lite- 
rary merits  of  Mrs.  Child.  "We  love  to  see  her  works  lying  on  the 
centre-table  wherever  we  go-^for  it  is  a  proof  to  us  that  good  hearts  and 
pleasant  intellects  are  about  us.  She  has  not  an  enemy  in  the  world, 
and  could  not  possibly  have  one.  When  she  dies  her  lovely  spirit  will 
pass,  by  a  transition  so  natural  and  so  easy,  into  its  new  and  higher  rela- 
tions, that  we  doubt  indeed  whether  she  will  herself  at  first  be  conscious 
of  the  change.  Mrs.  Child  is  no  partisan,  no  argufier,  no  declaimer 
against  abuses,  nor  suggester  of  new  and  startling  theories ;  but  her 
whole  heart  overflows  into  her  works  with  an  unbounded  love  for  God 
and  nature,  and  all  true  and  beautiful  things — and  so  evidently  sincere 
and  thorough  is  the  abandonment  of  her  devotion,  that  it  imparts  a  tone 
to  her  least  pretentious  writings  which  fill  the  eyes  with  tears,  and  the 
heart  with  glowing  happiness. 

Conspicuous  among  the  female  writers  of  this  country  is  Mrs.  Kirkland, 
whose  works,  written  when  she  resided  at  the  West,  burst  upon  the  pub- 
lic several  years  ago  with  the  promise  of  an  extremely  brilliant  career  for 
their  gifted  author.  Since  her  removal  to  New  York,  she  has  either  lost 
much  of  her  inspiration,  or  occupied  herself  in  other  pursuits  than  those 
of  literature ;  for,  although  we  occasionally  see  her  name,  and  read  her 
effusions,  yet  the  inimitable  freshness,  and  spirit,  and  raciness,  of  those 
glorious  prairie  sketches  in  "  A  New  Home — Who'll  Follow  V  seems  to 
have  faded  from  her  brain  and  heart  in  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  the 
metropolis,  as  completely  as  the  immaculate  flavor  of  Knickerbocker's 
history  disappeared  from  Irving's  inkstand  the  moment  he  removed  him- 
self from  the  weird  precincts  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  Mrs.  Kirkland's 
characteristics,  as  indicated  by  her  recent  writings  that  we  have  seen,  are 
a  shrewd  power  of  observation  and  description,  and  an  inexhaustible 
common  sense.  Had  she,  however,  fulfilled  the  promise  of  her  earlier 
works,  she  would  have  risen  to  a  height  of  popularity  which  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  measure. 

We  might  extend  and  prolong  the  catalogue  of  our  female  writers, 
but  not  greatly  nor  profitably.  In  fact,  although  we  have  been  as  great- 
ly favored  as  any  other  time  or  country  in  this  respect,  yet  it  must  be 
confessed  that  female  literature  compares  but  poorly  with  the  creative 
efforts  of  the  other  sex.  Whether  this  is  owing:  to  the  errors  and  falsi- 
ties  in  our  social  institutions,  or  to  an  inherent  inequality  in  the  intellec- 
tual endowments  of  the  two  sexes,  I  shall  not  be  bold  enough  to  discuss. 


114  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

My  own  private  opinion  of  the  matter,  however,  is,  that  women,  beiDg 
such  exquisite  poetry  and  works  of  art  themselves,  cannot  be  expected  to 
reproduce  themselves  by  the  ordinary  process  of  pen  and  ink,  and  other 
implements,  by  which  the  human  brain  manages  to  get  rid  of  itself  in 
the  various  departments  and  interests  of  creative  effort.  We  should  as 
soon  expect  a  rose-bush  to  turn  gardener,  or  a  gold-finch  ornithologist,  as 
for  those  pretty  flowers  and  sweet  singing  birds,  the  ladies,  to  do  any- 
thing but  be  musical  and  beautiful.  We  think,  in  fact,  that  a  woman 
transcends  her  manifest  destiny  in  entering  the  rubbish -strewn  arena  of 
literature  and  art ;  and  could  we  organize  society  strictly  according  to 
our  own  views,  the  sole  employment  of  all  womankind,  throughout  the 
universe,  should  be,  to  admire  their  pretty  selves,  and  be  adored  by  the 
men.  Until  this  new  and  magnificent  phase  of  society  comes  round,  we 
devotedly  raise  our  hat,  and  bid  them  adieu. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A   NEW    FIELD A    WORD     ABOUT     THE     PAINTERS NATIVE     AND    FOREIGN 

PAUPERS FREE    NEGROES DESTINY    OF     THE    BLACK   RACE CREATION 

OF     NEW     RACES FINAL    DESTINY     OF     THE     GLOBE     AND     ITS     INHABI- 
TANTS. 

Native  Mechanics  and  Laborers — Effects  of  Foreign  Competition — 
Changes  in  the  Current  of  Trade — The  Commercial  Inquisition — 
Mechanics — The  Contract  System — Disappearance  of  Certain  Trades 
from  the  City — Female  Labor — Emigrant  Population — Duty  of 
Society  to  its  Helpless  Members — The  Firemen  of  New  York — 
No.  14  in  Broadway — A  Frenchman ]s  Description  of  the  Fire- 
men — The  Quarrels  and  Amusements  of  Firemen — Good  Move — 
Native  Rowdies  and  Foreign  Rumsellers — Pritchard's  Trial — 
Firemen  Militia— Duty  of  Society  to  Youthful  Vagabonds — Slop 
Work — Remedy — Amusements  of  the  Middle  Million — Bowery — 
National — Franklin  Museum — Bur  ton's — Brougham's — Niblo's — 
Broadway — Christy's  Minstrels — Balls  and  Dancing — The  B'hoy 
on    Sunday — On    the  Avenue — Reflections. 

We  now  take  a  bold  plunge  from  the  wealthy  and  professional  classes 
of  society  into  another  world  and  another  creation,  almost  among  another 
race  of  beings;  for  the  undeveloped,  uneducated,  unrefined,  and,  neces- 


AMERICAN    ARTISTS.  115 

sarily,  partly  brutalized  victim  of  labor  is,  in  deed  and  in  truth,  a  differ- 
ent being  from  the  man  of  taste,  refinement,  and  gratified  aspirations. 
We  had  intended,  before  bidding  adieu  to  the  upper  strata  of  society, 
to  make  some  allusion  to  the  other  classes  of  professional  life  than  the 
literary,  but  on  second  thought,  we  abandoned  this  idea — as  well  on 
account  of  the  reader  as  ourselves.  Every  man  and  woman  in  the  com- 
munity is  interested  in  every  literary  man  and  woman,  while  each  indi- 
ridual  and  each  family  selects  its  own  lawyer,  its  own  doctor,  and  its  own 
minister,  and  cares  comparatively  little  about  those  of  other  people.  It 
is  true,  the  world  of  art  should  present  a  somewhat  fruitful  and  profita- 
ble field  of  investigation  ;  but  artists  are,  as  a  class,  so  much  more  irrita- 
ble than  even  scribblers,  that  we  shall  fain  make  the  best  of  it  by  dis- 
missing them  with  a  word  of  approbation  in  the  lump,  avoiding  all  inves- 
tigation or  criticism  upon  their  individual  merits.  In  fact,  the  condition 
of  the  fine  arts  in  this  country,  at  the  present  time,  is  so  eminently  without 
nationality,  without  originality,  without  antecedents,  and  without  well- 
defined  features,  that  if  I  were  to  say  only  that  which  I  think  and  feel 
about  American  art  and  American  artists,  I  should  make  many  unneces- 
sary enemies,  say  many  unnecessary  cruel  things,  and  incurably  wound 
many  susceptibilities ;  and,  as  I  have  no  intention  of  saying  anything  in 
this  book  that  I  do  not  believe,  I  will  even  let  the  studios  repose  in  their 
quiet  and  half  mysterious  solitude.  Painters,  besides,  are  a  tribe  of 
beings  who  seem  scarcely  to'  belong  to  society.  A  few  of  them,  now 
and  then,  make  their  appearance  in  certain  favored  circles,  but,  gener- 
ally, they  live  within  themselves,  and  their  social  solaces  are  of  a  descrip- 
tion too  bizarre  and  doubtful  to  be  recognized  in  any  regular  disquisition 
upon  society.  Let  us,  then,  pay  the  hasty  tribute  of  an  exceptional 
word  in  favor  of  Durand,  Mount,  and  Elliott,  leave  these  narrow  precincts, 
and  direct  our  steps  toward  the  broad  and  fruitful  field  of  observation 
opened  before  us  by  the  condition  and  destiny  of  the  great  middle  work- 
ing class. 

From  this  point  the  character  of  our  material  will  rapidly  degenerate. 
The  elegant  will  sink  to  the  common-place,  the  common-place  to  the 
destitute  and  squalid,  and  misery  and  ignorance  speedily  find  their 
inevitable  ultimates — in  licentiousness  and  crime.  In  this  division  of 
our  work  it  is  our  intention  to  probe  boldly  and  with  honest  hands  the 
absolute  and  positive  evils  and  their  consequences  which  oppress  this 
immense  class  of  our  population — to  show  truly  those  which  are  imposed 
upon  them  by  others,  as  well  as  those  which  proceed  from  within  them- 
selves.    Before  we  have  finished  this  task  it  will  have  led  us  from  the 


116  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

palaces  and  saloons  of  our  wealthy  and  accomplished  aristocracy,  to  the 
dens  and  garrets  of  want  and  degradation. 

In  treating  of  the  working  classes  in  the  metropolis,  we  must  com- 
mence by  making  an  immediate  distinction,  generally  in  disquisitions 
of  this  kind  overlooked,  as  well  as  lost  sight  of  in  those  statistics  of  crime 
and  pauperism  and  charity  which  from  official  sources  are  given  to  the 
public.  This  distinction  is  one  of  birth-place,  and  recalls  in  all  its  depth 
and  intensity  the  old  Native  American  question,  which  by  the  ignorance, 
dishonesty,  imbecility  and  selfishness  of  its  managers  was  perverted  from 
its  high  and  holy  mission  and  made  the  laughing-stock  of  the  public. 
Yet  the  philosophy  of  that  question  contained  the  great  idea  necessary 
to  explain,  to  understand,  and  to  remedy  the  monstrous  evils  of  society 
in  the  New  World.  Without  keeping  in  view  this  great  distinction,  it  is 
incredible  to  the  large  thinking  mind  that  a  government  so  free  and 
little  expensive  to  the  labor  of  the  country  as  ours — that  a  soil  so  prolific 
and  a  system  of  labor,  competition,  combination  and  reward  so  utterly 
unrestricted — should  produce  such  wide-spread  destitution  and  despair 
as  we  are  about  to  lay  bare  in  the  heart  of  the  capital  of  the  western 
world.  And  it  is  strictly  true  that  an  inconceivably  small  portion  of  this 
misery  is  shared  by  the  native  born  children  of  the  American  soil.  In 
this  immense  city  with  its  seventy  thousand  paupers  and  two  millions 
and  a  half  annually  disbursed  in  public  charity,  I  do  not  honestly  be- 
lieve there  are  fifty  native  born  Americans  who  are  indebted  to  public 
charit}^  for  their  food  or  shelter.  The  moment  we  approach  the  darker 
and  more  revolting  aspects  of  life  in  this  metropolis,  it  is  but  a  reproduc- 
tion, line  for  line  and  feature  for  feature,  in  many  cases,  in  all  with  but 
slight  modifications,  of  the  same  phases  of  existence  in  London  and  other 
portions  of  the  old  world.  I  ought,  however,  to  except  from  these 
remarks  the  free  negro  population  of  our  city,  which  in  everything 
wretched,  hopeless  and  abominable,  is  infinitely  worse  than  Jerrold,  or 
Mayhcw,  or  Dickens,  or  Sue,  could  possibly  conceive  ;  for,  added  to  the 
disabilities  of  association  and  lack  of  education,  the  free  negro,  removed 
from  the  sole  protection  that  has  ever  succeeded  in  rescuing  him  from 
starvation,  sinks  hopeless  beneath  that  inferiority  of  blood  and  race 
implanted  in  his  nature  by  God  himself.  Yes,  there  can  be  no  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  any  reasoning  and  rightly  observing  man,  that  in  no  part  of 
the  earth,  under  no  institutions,  however  tyrannical  or  oppressive,  under 
no  system  of  inadequate  reward  or  enormous  taxation  of  labor  that  ever 
existed,  has  white  human  nature  fallen  by  many,  many  degrees  so  low 
as   the  condition  of  the  free  blacks  in  New  York,   Philadelphia  and 


ABSORPTION    OF   THIS    COLORED    RACES.  lit 

Boston  ;  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  true  that  there  never  yet  has  been 
a  peasantry  and  a  laboring  population  of  any  race  or  color,  who  as  a 
general  thing  enjoyed  so  comfortable  a  degree  of  existence,  and  were  so 
free  from  destitution,  vice  and  disorders,  as  the  slave  population  of  the 
South.  These  two  grand  facts  I  state  here — not  for  the  purpose  of  draw- 
ing from  them  inferences  prejudicial  to  this  or  that  political  interest,  nor 
to  add  one  futile  effort  more  to  the  thousands  that  have  been  made  or 
that  will  ever  be  made  with  equal  futility,  to  settle  this  point  in  political 
economy.  The  destiny  of  the  black  race  in  contact  with  the  whites  is  a 
problem  which  can  only  work  itself  out  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  As 
to  my  own  belief — if  there  be  any  who  possess  a  curiosity  to  know  it — it 
is  that  the  African  race,  although  by  its  greater  flexibility  and  power  of 
adaptation  to  circumstances,  it  will  for  a  long  time  remain  in  some 
species  of  contact  with  the  whites,  yet  must  eventually  be  absorbed  or 
annihilated,  as  the  red  man  has  already  almost  been.  I  believe  fully,  as 
the  result  of  the  most  careful  and  deeply  interested  studies,  investigations 
and  reflections  upon  the  laws  of  the  physiology  of  races,  that  not  only 
will  the  African  and  the  Indian  tribes  be  eventually  extirpated  in  the 
progress  of  humanity — not  only  will  their  fate  be  imitated  by  the  yellow 
men  and  the  Malays,  and  all  other  races  at  present  known  and  recognized 
as  inferior  to  the  Caucasian,  but  that  there  are  to  appear  on  earth  races 
of  men  as  far  superior  to  the  present  highest  development  of  the  Cauca- 
sian and  Anglo-Saxon  races,  as  they  are  to  the  other  and  meaner  inhabi- 
tants of  the  earth.  I  look  abroad  upon  this  globe  and  find  progress 
stamped  as  the  character  of  its  animal  and  vegetable  productions.  The 
condition  of  its  geological,  vegetable,  animal  and  scientific  developments 
and  the  physical  and  intellectual  state  of  the  races  of  mankind  who 
inhabit  it,  all  bear  a  continual  and  marvellous  harmony,  one  with  the 
other.  Reasoning  from  the  past,  I  look  to  the  future  history  of  our 
planet,  and  I  see  the  earth  disencumbered  of  its  miasmatic  marshes,  its 
inaccessible  mountains  levelled  to  the  grasp  of  the  cultivator  of  £he  soil, 
its  barren  deserts  blooming  as  the  rose,  and  every  noxious  and  poisonous 
weed,  ore  and  exhalation  departed  for  ever.  When  that  time  comes,  the 
meteoric  phenomena  of  the  atmosphere  and  of  the  seasons,  will  have 
corresponded  to  this  great  and  beneficent  change.  Death-dealing 
tempests  and  convulsions  will  no  more  sweep  over  the  land  and  ocean  ; 
pestilential  winds  will  no  more  scatter  death  and  horror  among  the 
millions  of  every  clime  and  nation  ;  and  the  whole  physical  condition  of 
thos3  who  fill  this  beautiful  green  globe,  which  God  has  given  to  man 
for  his  final  and  glorious  habitation  and  inheritance,  will  utter  but  one 


118  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

sweet  and  thrilling  harmony  with  the  divine  goodness  and  glory  of  the 
Creator.  At  that  time  too  will  the  human  race  have  undergone  a  corres- 
ponding transfiguration.  Murder  and  robbery,  and  oppression,  and 
treachery,  and  ingratitude,  and  all  the  horrible  train  of  evils  that  march 
wailing  like  furies  in  the  train  of  a  perverted  love,  will  have  disappeared 
from  among  mankind.  Want,  parent  of  every  species  of  crime  and  out- 
rage, that  man  has  ever  suffered  at  the  hand  of  man,  the  cause  too  of 
those  horrible  evils  to  which  woman  has  been  so  long  compelled  to 
submit,  will  no  longer  then  exist,  and  with  it  will  disappear  those  mean, 
contemptible  and  miserable  motives  now  miscalled  passions,  that  hurry 
a  desperate,  reckless  and  despairing  world  into  every  horrible  excess. 
In  these  days,  too,  the  physical  and  intellectual  stature  of  mankind  will 
have  aggrandized  itself  to  its  original  and  celestial  proportions,  when 
God  created  man  in  his  own  image,  and' when  he  was  but  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels. 

But,  to  leave  these  speculations,  which  will  of  course  be  dismissed 
among  the  idle  dreams  and  fancies  of  the  imagination — let  us  cast  a  look 
at  the  great  problem  of  labor  in  the  nineteenth  century*  as  we  find  it 
actually  existing  in  New  York.  As  to  a  great  majority  of  our  American 
mechanics  and  laboring  men,  they  are  for  the  most  part  in  what  may  be 
called  a  comfortable  position,  though  now  and  then  they  feel  the  hand  of 
distress  weigh  heavily  upon  them — chiefly,  however,  through  the  severe 
competition  created  by  the  immense,  number  of  emigrants,  who  stand 
ready  at  every  corner  to  undertake  every  species  of  mechanical,  or  other 
labor,  whether  they  understand  it  or  not,  and  who  of  course  will  work 
for  a  mere  pittance  in  comparison  to  any  fair  remuneration,  as  understood 
in  our  American  scale  of  prices.  Accustomed  in  their  own  country  to 
live  like  pigs,  they  can  stow  themselves  away  into  all  sorts  of  holes  and 
corners,  and  live  on  refuse,  at  a  rate  of  wages  upon  which  any  decent 
white  man  would  very  surely,  and  very  speedily  starve.  Thus  they  over- 
run every  department  of  mechanical  industry  especially,  like  armies  of 
locusts,  and  literally  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  native-born 
laborers.  We  do  not  say  they  are  to  blame  for  this.  We  only  state  the 
fjict ;  and  for  proof  that  it  is  fact,  we  appeal  to  every  man  and  woman  in 
city  who  depends  upon  the  labor  of  the  hands  for  subsistence. 

An  important  change  in  the  retail  and  smaller  mercantile  operations 
of  the  state  is  now  gradually  but  visibly  being  effected.  It  is  the  con- 
centration of  capital  and  trade  in  each  department  into  the  hands  of  a 
few  large  dealers  or  contractors.  This,  like  almost  every  other  tendency 
of  the  present  civilization,  is  the  inverted  aspect  of  a  process  of  true 


MERCANTILE   ESPIONAGE.  119 

melioration.  Concentration  and  combination  are  the  secrets  of  the  mag- 
nificent improvements  wnich  are  to  come  upon  the  face  of  society  ;  but 
as  at  present  directed  and  controlled,  they  are  but  the  signs  of  oppression, 
and  the  great  and  rapidly-becoming  insurmountable  obstacle  to  success  to 
all  who  start  and  struggle  in  life  unaided  by  hereditary  wealth  or  factitious 
circumstances.  Formerly  it  was  possible  and  common  for  young  traders 
with  four  or  five  thousand  dollars  capital,  to  commence  business  in  any 
department  they  preferred,  and  with  ordinary  caution,  prudence  and  eco- 
nomy, to  almost  invariably  succeed.  But  now  we  find  the  amount  of 
capital  necessary  to  procure  even  a  remote  chance  of  success  rapidly 
enlarging ;  and  in  a  short  time  it  will  be  impossible  to  found  a  mercan- 
tile establishment  short  of  a  fortune  to  invest  as  preliminary  capital. 
The  few  large  houses  in  every  branch  of  trade  are  rapidly  swallowing  up 
and  absorbing  the  smaller  and  younger  ones  around  them,  and  it  is 
already  almost  an  utter  impossibility  for  a  young  man  without  vast 
resources,  and  unlimited  credit  and  acquaintance,  to  even  obtain  a  show 
of  success  in  the  great  and  cruel  game  of  mercantile  competition.  We 
are  rapidly  creating  in  our  very  midst,  and  unconsciously  to  all,  even  to 
themselves  perhaps,  a  class  of  commercial  barons,  into  whose  hands  will 
inevitably  pass  the  entire  control  of  the  business  and  credit,  and  the  very 
mercantile  existence,  of  the  whole  trading  communit}^.  In  fact,  to  an 
incredible  extent  already  is  this  so  ;  and  hundreds  of  ambitious  young 
men  of  small  means,  to  whom  the  country  and  villages  and  smaller  cities 
are  still  a  free  and  practicable  arena,  annually  hasten  here  to  sink  their 
capital,  involve  themselves,  and  crush  hope  out  of  their  hearts,  in  the 
futile  struggle  for  a  foothold  in  the  metropolis.  Not  contented  with  the 
gradual  and  natural  formation  of  these  gigantic  monopolies,  the  leading 
houses  in  metropolitan  trade,  have .  in  their  employment  an  organized 
system  of  espionage,  which,  centered  in  New  York,  extends  its  ramifica- 
tions to  every  city,  village,  and  school  district,  in  "the  Union.  Spies  are 
regularly  employed  by  this  institution  to  travel  throughout  the  country, 
and  secretly  obtain  precise  information  of  the  property,  the  associations, 
the  business,  the  family,  and  the  personal  habits  of  every  man  engaged 
in  trade.  These  data  are  transmitted  to  the  office  of  the  central  inquisi- 
tion in  New  York,  and  carefully  recorded  in  secret  ledgers,  and  books  of 
reference — so  that  the  innocent  country-merchant  who  enters  our  palatial 
establishments  of  wholesale  trade,  is  scanned  by  the  reference  partner 
through  a  hole  in  his  private  counting-room,  and  the  reference  books 
examined  to  the  minutest  detail  of  his  credit,  as  he  passes  the  counters 
loaded  with  the  gorgeous  products  of  skill  and  industry  he  has  come  to 


120  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

examine.  This  system  can  scarcely  be  called  other  than  infamous ;  and 
were  it  put  in  practice  by  any  other  than  the  selfish  and  insolent  class 
who  in  reality  govern  and  rule  this  age,  and  especially  this  country — 
the  merchants — it  would  bring  disgrace  and  incurable  odium  upon  those 
who  indulged  in  it.  But  now  it  is  only  regarded  as  evidence  of  the 
shrewdness  and  thoroughness  of  the  commercial  community,  and  no  pos- 
sible means  of  escaping  it  exist. 

Something  of  a  similar  kind  to  the  monopolizing  tendency  we  have 
recorded  above  exists  also  in  respect  to  the  mechanical  interests  of  the 
city — springing  from  an  undue  expansion  and  application  of  the  contract 
system,  by  which  the  speculating  contractor  interposes  between  the 
mechanic  and  the  real  employer,  and  besides  appropriating  a  heavy  per 
centage  upon  the  poor  proceeds,  nullifies  the  advantages  of  the  lien-law, 
and  leaves  the  poor  workman  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  the  heartless  con- 
tractor, who,  compelled  by  competition,  to  engage  work  for  less  than 
fair  prices,  must  in  turn  oppress  his  workman  to  starvation  point.  This 
evil  has  long  been  desperately  felt  among  the  entire  class  of  mechanics 
and  workmen  engaged  in  building;  and  instances  of  the  most  unmiti- 
gated scoundrel  ism  on  the  part  of  these  cold-blooded  speculators  on  the 
bone,  and  muscle,  and  the  sweat  of  the  laborers'  brow,  every  now  and 
then  transpire.  But  there  is  no  remedy  for  these  evils,  save  a  total  reno- 
vation and  revolution  in  the  system  upon  which  work  is  done — and  that 
of  course  is  only  the  result  of  time.  It  will  come  as  soon  as  it  cannot 
help  it ;  not  before. 

Another  change  in  the  mechanical  labor  of  the  city  is  in  the  gradual 
driving  out,  by  want  and  starvation,  of  the  smaller  and  handier  kinds  of 
mechanical  labor,  such  as  shoe-making,  hat-making,  &c,  from  the  city 
into  the  adjacent  country  and  villages.     I  have,  in  times  past,  had  occa- 
sion to  become  familiar  with  the  condition  of  these  classes  of  mechanics, 
and  I  was  astonished  to  learn  the  rapid  change  in  the  respect  I  have 
mentioned  that  was  being  effected  among  them.     Large  numbers  of  the 
more  respectable  and  high-minded  portion  "bf  the  mechanics  engaged  in 
these  occupations  have  been  forced  to  quit  the  city  and  find  home  and 
employment  in  the  large  establishments  founded  in  other  places ;  while 
the  great  proportion  of  the  work  of  this  kind  still  done  in  the  city  is  in 
the  hands  of  foreign  journeymen  or  botches,  who  work  very  badly  for 
worse  pay,  and  are  grateful  for  any  occupation  that  will  save  them  and 
their  families  from  absolute  starvation.     Of  course,  under  these  circum- 
stances, all  broad  ideas  of  the  practical  reformation  and  elevation  of  the 

<  hanical  laboring  classes  must  be  out  of  the  question.     A  transfusion 


AMERICAN    CHARACTERISTICS.  121 

of  material  and  element  is  constantly  going  on  of  an  expensive  and  dete- 
riorating character ;  and  every  year  sees  the  great  body  of  the  journey- 
men mechanics  of  the  city  of  New  York  considerably  lower  than  its 
twelvemonth  predecessor.  This  is  a  melancholy  truth,  but  it  is  one 
which  I  know  from  practical  observation,  and  one  that  cannot  be  success- 
fully disputed.  The  last  two  years  have  added  •  another  element  to  this 
drain  upon  the  vitality  and  vigor  of  our  population,  by  withdrawing 
several  thousands  of  our  young  men  to  California,  leaving  their  families 
to  become  destitute  and  demoralized,  and  their  places  to  be  rilled  with  an 
infinitely  less  valuable  material  than  themselves. 

The  condition  and  state  of  development  of  the  female  portion  of  our 
working  population  is  even  less  encouraging  than  that  of  the  other  sex. 
Those  of  them  who  are  wives  and  mothers  are  continually  tempted,  by 
the  insane  spirit  of  social  rivalry  that  pervades  all  classes,  to  go  beyond 
their  means  in  their  manner  of  dress  and  living,  and  to  neglect  those 
strict  lessons  of  prudence  and  economy,  in  the  rearing  of  their  families, 
which  are  alone  fitted  to  their  condition  and  the  struggle  in  life  for  which 
they  are  destined.  In  respect  to  education,  also,  there  are  wide  and 
lamentable  deficiencies.  Although  our  Free  School  system  has  done 
great  good,  and  prevented  incalculable  ignorance  and  misery,  yet  there 
is  that  which  it  cannot  do.  It  cannot  infuse  into  the  hearts  and  minds 
of  fathers  and  mothers,  in  the  lower  walks  of  life,  a  proper  sense  of  the 
necessity  for  education;  and  there  is  a  .constant  struggle  going  on 
between  the  tendency  of  the  rising  generation  to  seek  the  light  and  the 
influence  of  a  degraded  and  besotted  parentage  to  corrupt  and  depress 
it,  whose  results  are  visible  in  the  wide-spread  deterioration  in  public 
morals,  and  an  increasing  catalogue  of  petty  offences  against  the  laws. 
These  things,  too^are  confined  almost  exclusively  to  the  foreign  classes  of 
our  population.  To  an  American  family  the  ambition  to  possess  know- 
ledge, comfort,  and  respectability  is  inherent,  while  to  the  degraded 
thousands  whom  Europe  annually  throws  upon  our  shores,  the  first  and 
last  thought  is  the  groggery,  the  hospital,  and  the  almshouse.  It  is  a 
terrible  food  for  any  nation  to  digest,  such  an  immense  mass  of  moral 
and  physical  filth  and  putrefaction;  yet  the  stomach  of  our  body  politic 
is  so  strong  and  healthy,  ^,nd  so  young  and  fresh  are  all  the  sources  of 
our  public  opinion  and  public  morality,  that  the  constant  process  of  defile- 
ment going  on  in  New  York  has  little  power  to  taint  the  other  portions 
of  the  system  ;  and  it  is  even  to  be  hoped  that  it  will  eventually  purify 
itself,  and  so  keep  the  nation  from  the  consequences  of  the  polluting  con- 
tact to  which  it  is  subjected.     In  very  truth,  the  emigrant  population  of 

8 


122  NEW     YORK    NAKED. 

New  York  is  one  of  the  most  terrible  nuisances  with  which  any  people 
or  any  city  were  ever  infested.  Ignorant  of  the  principles  of  our  social 
and  political  institutions,  unconscious  of  the  dignity  and  responsibility 
that  belong  to  the  position  of  a  free  human  agent,  and  unable  to  per- 
form the  slightest  action,  save  from  the  impulse  of  a  narrow  and  blind 
selfishness,  they  destroy  and  pervert  all  the  blessings  that  naturally  flow 
from  our  form  of  Government  and  transform  them  into  curses,  not  only 
upon  themselves  but  upon  the  community  that  is  forced  to  cherish  and 
sustain  them.  Miserable,  miserable,  indeed,  is  the  condition  of  the 
foreign  population  of  this  great  city !  To  go  through  the  streets  and 
along  the  wharves  on  either  side  of  the  Island,  knee  deep  in  filth  and 
suffocating  with  poisonous  odors,  to  examine  the  damp  and  gloomy  cel- 
lars where  so  many  hundreds  of  them  are  huddled  together,  writhing 
like  loathsome  reptiles,  in  a  pestilential  and  noxious  atmosphere,  to  wit- 
ness the  drunken  revels  and  midnight  orgies  with  which  these  unhappy 
wretches  solace  themselves  for  the  starvation  and  shivering  despair  ot 
their  daily  existence, — is  to  make  one's  self  familiar  with  a  gigantic 
moral  phenomenon  whose  proportions  strike  terror  to  the  soul,  and  whose 
shadow  blots  the  sunshine  of  hope  from  the  heart.  Yes,  in  this  glorious 
metropolis  of  the  New  World,  so  wealthy,  so  ambitious,  so  ostentatious, 
and  so  gay,  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  human  beings,  steeped  to  the  lips 
in  every  species  of  moral  and  physical  degradation,  live  on  from  day  to 
day  and  from  year  to  year  an  ever  satire  upon  our  lofty  pretensions  of 
superiority  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  a  terrible  rebuke  to  the  indiffer- 
ence and  the  errors  of  society  that  thus  remorselessly  refuses  to  recognize 
so  many  and  such  helpless  of  its  members. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  in  this  place  to  go  over  again  the  details  and 
the  revolting  particulars  of  the  condition  of  this  class  of  our  population, 
nor  to  harrow  up  the  sensibilities  of  our  readers  by  pictures  drawn  from 
life,  and  observation  of  the  state  in  which  they  pass  their  lives.  All  this 
has  been  done  again  and  again  ;  and  yet  the  community  seems  as  insen- 
sible as  ever  to  the  truth,  and  as  incapable  of  entertaining  any  ideas 
pointing  to  a  radical  and  thorough  reform  in  the  basis  and  principle  of 
social  existence — the  only  method  from  which  any  alleviation  of  these 
horrors  is  ever  to  be  hoped  for.  Year  after  year  our  moralists  and  minis- 
ters preach  against  those  terrible  vices  of  theft,  and  robbery,  and  prosti- 
tution, which  spring  directly  from  want ;  and  yet  no  one  has  the  courage 
to  stand  up  and  proclaim  the  truth,  that  society  itself  has  committed  the 
first  crime,  and  that  it  is  the  imperative  duty  of  the  community  itself  to 
provide  for  the  comfort  of  every  one  of  its  members,  and  then  to  hold 


THE    NEW   YORK   FIREMEN.  123 

them  responsible  for  the  faithful  performance  of  their  duties  in  the 
respect  due  to  the  rights  and  property  of  others.  Thousands  of  men, 
women  and  children  live  in  daily  danger  of  starvation  and  perishing ; 
and  it  is  my  positive  belief  that  a  great  proportion  of  the  petty  crimes 
and  of  the  immoralities  of  the  lower  class  of  society  proceed  directly 
from  the  dire  urgency  of  cold  and  hunger.  I  have  seen  enough  to  con- 
vince me  of  this.  I  have  witnessed  scene  after  scene,  of  destitute  and 
despairing  virtue,  pushed  by  starvation  to  the  verge  of  crime,  so  oft 
repeated,  that  it  leaves  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  if  society  would  per- 
form its  first  and  fundamental  duty  to  all  its  members,  the  crimes  and 
the  evils  which  most  press  upon  us  would  almost  wholly  disappear. 
Intemperance  is  the  grand  medium  and  condition  in  which  the  bulk  of 
crimes  are  committed.  But  intemperance  is  only  the  unnatural  solace 
of  these  desperate  and  reckless  individuals ;  for  in  it  they  forget  for  a 
time  their  sufferings  and  their  sorrows.  And  licentiousness,  too,  is 
another  direct  offspring  of  this  want  of  the  common  necessaries'  of  life, 
which  it  is  the  bounden  duty  of  the  community  to  supply  to  every  indi- 
vidual. I  do  not  believe  there  are  at  this  moment  ten  women  of  the  ten 
thousand  publicly  frail  ones  of  New  York,  who,  had  they  been  secured 
an  honorable  and  a  decent  existence,  would  have  abandoned  themselves 
to  the  life  of  infamy  and  shame  they  now  jDursue.  Nor  do  I  believe  that 
the  multitude  of  offences  against  property  that  stain  our  criminal  calen- 
ders would  exist  were  it  not  for  the  pinching  want  inflicted  by  hunger, 
and  the  discomfort  and  physical  suffering  of  the  families  of  criminals. 
Parental  love  is  the  strongest  of  human  passions;  and  it  is  even  stronger 
in  the  lower  classes,  who  have  so  few  things  to  love,  and  so  few  to  love 
them,  than  in  the  higher.  It  is  not  difficult  to  believe  that  ignorant  and 
half-starved  men,  goaded  on  by  the  sufferings  and  destitution  of  their 
families,  should  commit  acts  of  reprisal  against  that  society  which  has 
treated  them  and  theirs  with  such  palpable  and  unjust  severity. 

But  let  us  refrain  for  still  a  moment  from  this  extreme  view  of  life,  in 
its  lower  phases,  and  refresh  ourselves  with  a  draught  of  air  from  this 
open  window,  and  a  gleam  of  sunshine  from  the  beautiful  sky.  Look 
how  gay  and  lively  is  the  street,  how  busy  and  eager  the  thousands  who 
hurry  by  in  swift  procession  !  And  see  !  there  is  a  body  of  stalwart  and 
sinewy  men  clad  in  leathern  caps  and  red  shirts,  with  pantaloons  rolled 
up,  or  tucked  into  the  tops  of  their  cowhide  boots,  and  all  pulling  lustily 
at  an  obstinate-looking  vehicle,  with  strange  and  uncouth  machinery 
and  enginery  all  about  it,  and  setting  down  low  to  the  ground,  with  stout 
and  thick- ribbed  wheels  that  rattle  and  crack  loudly  as  they  mil  over 


124  NEW   YORK   NAKED. 

the  pavement.  The  machine  is  dragged  by  long  ropes,  to  which  are 
attached  twenty  or  thirty  men,  and  which  is  followed  by  twice  as  many 
boys  of  all  sizes,  sorts,  and  complexions.  This  is  that  wonder  of  civiliza- 
tion, a  Fire  Company ;  not  such  fire  companies  as  exist  in  any  other 
country  on  the  face  of  the  earth — uniformed,  disciplined,  under  strict 
control,  and  drilled  to  well-understood  regulations — but  a  volunteer  fire 
company — in  short,  an  American  Fire  Company.  Its  members  all  belong 
to  some  respectable  business,  and  turn  out  entirely,  con  amove,  and  from 
the  sheer  love  of  excitement  and  that  irrepressible  flow  of  animal  spirits, 
which  is  the  uniform  characteristic  of  the  American.  "With  no  compen- 
sation whatever,  and  no  expectation  of  reward,  except  the  mere  fun  of 
the  thing,  and  the  glory  of  doing  a  good  action,  without  a  selfish  motive, 
these  brave  and  hardy  men  expose  themselves  to  dangers  and  perils  ten 
times  as  great  as  those  that  accompany  the  fiercest  battle.  Day  or  night, 
at  a  moment's  warning,  no  matter  what  may  be  their  engagements,  or 
what  claims  may  be  asserting  themselves  upon  their  time  and  attention, 
they  leave  their  occupations,'  their  beds,  the  cradle  of  their  sick  child — 
anything,  anybody — and  at  the  sound  of  the  alarm-bell,  rush  into  the 
streets,  clothing  themselves  in  their  uniform  as  they  go  along,  and  ready 
to  work  one  hour,  or  fifty  hours,  as  the  case  may  be,  in  mud  and  water, 
under  tumble-down  walls,  amid  blazing  rafters  and  crashing  timbers,  to 
save  the  property,  perhaps  the  lives  of  people  whom  they  know  not,  and 
never  heard  of,  and  who  care  and  know  nothing  of  them.  Talk  of  the 
chivalry  of  the  middle  ages,  and  its  sickly  and  sentimental  whine  ! 
"Why,  it  was  nothing  whatever  to  be  compared  to  the  chivalry  of  the 
American  fireman,  who,  almost  unconscious  that  he  is  doing  an  unusual 
thing,  holds  his  whole  life  and  existence  at  the  order  and  service  of  those 
in  whom  he  has  no  interest  whatever,  and  from  whom  he  expects  no 
reward. 

The  firemen  of  New  York  are  a  social  phenomenon  well  worth  the 
studying ;  and  if  we  mistake  not,  the  most  important  and  encouraging 
■lessons  are  to  be  drawn  from  their  life  and  example.  Their  efficient  and 
practical  existence,  and  that  it  is  efficient  and  practical,  no  one  we  fancy 
will  be  disposed  to  deny,  is  a  veritable  and  triumphant  reply  to  those 
cavillers  at  the  great  social  religion  of  Fourier,  who  contend  that  even 
could  the  distribution  and  organization  of  labor  he  provides  for  be 
effected,  the  motives  would  be  wanting  that  would  impel  to  action  those 
groups  devoted  to  the  performance  of  dangerous  and  revolting  duties. 
War,  and  a  sacrifice  of  soldiers  to  a  cause  they  know  nothing  of  and  care 
nothing  for,  is  accounted  for  by  these  cavillers  as  the  effect  of  discipline 


THE   AMERICAN    FIREMAN    AN    ORIGINAL.  125 

and  the  fear  of  punishment.  It  may  be  that  to  some  extent  this  is  the 
case ;  although  there  can  be  no  serious  doubt  that  the  latent  sense  of 
chivalry  existing  in  every  human  heart,  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  courage 
and  devotion  of  soldiers.  But  in  the  case  of  the  firemen  the  question  is 
at  once  disincumbered  of  all  these  difficulties,  and  presents  itself  naked 
to  our  view.  No  inconvenience  nor  disability  is  incurred  by  the  fireman 
who  neglects  his  duties.  No  force  operates  upon  him  to  induce  him  to 
engage  in  that  dangerous  occupation,  and  no  hope  of  reward  nor  com- 
pensation continues  him  in  the  performance  of  its  functions.  If  any 
human  act  can  be  clearly  traced  for  its  motives  to  the  inherent  love  of 
glory  and  a  chivalric  devotion  to  the  interests  of  others,  which  lie  at  the 
basis  of  all  the  noble  qualities  of  humanity,  it  is  the  service  performed 
for  their  fellowmen  by  the  volunteer  firemen — ill-requited  and  unacknow- 
ledged as  are  their  countless  acts  of  devotion  and  exposure. 

We  do  not  know  that  we  could  do  a  more  interesting  thing  than  to 
give  in  this  place  the^estimate  of  our  New  York  firemen,  formed  by  an 
intelligent  foreigner,  one  of  the  editors  of  the  "  Republican  "  who  under 
the  title  of  "  Esquisses  a,  la  Plume,"  has  given  a  series  of  graphic  and 
entertaining  pictures  of  life  and  character  in  New  York,  exhibiting  great 
power  of  observation  as  well  as  lively  fancy  and  an  agreeable  style.  One 
of  these  sketches  is  under  the  title  of  "  Types  du  Bowery — le  Pompier." 

"  The  American  fireman,  says  our  Paris  philosopher,  "  differs  essentially 
from  his  French  namesake.  They  have  but  a  single  point  of  correspon- 
dence, the  common  object  of  their  mission.  As  to  the  organization  of 
their  bodies  and  their  individual  physiology,  there  is  radical  difference. 
In  France  the  fireman  is  recognized  by  his  martial  gait,  by  his  uniform, 
and  his  helmet  of  polished  brass.  In  New  York,  except  when  in  actual 
service,  the  fireman  wears  a  black  dress,  sometimes  even  a  drab  overcoat, 
and  an  umbrella — when  it  rains.  The  first  is  a  soldier  subject  to  a  com- 
plete military  discipline,  and  officered  by  men  who  belong  to  the  ranks 
of  the  army.  The  second  is  a  simple  citizen,  without  moustachios, 
exercising  voluntarily  his  benevolent  functions  upon  the  sounding  of  the 
tocsin  that  calls  him  to  the  field ;  free  the  remainder  of  the  time,  and 
owing  no  service  •  nor  obedience  but  to  the  chiefs  of  his  company,  who 
obtain  their  honors  by  election,  and  upon  the  strength  of  long  services  or 
of  brilliant  acts  of  courage  and  devotion.  Here,  one  is  a  fireman  when 
he  does  not  wish  to  perform  military  nor  jury  duty.  The  American 
fireman  inhabits,  then,  no  particular  barrack.  He  dwells  everywhere,  in 
every  street,  in  every  house,  in  every  hotel.  A  clerk,  a  pastry  cook,  a 
poet,  are  all  equally  eligible  as  firemen,  and  man  the  pump  merely  as  a 


126  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

matter  of  taste  and  for  the  love  of  rendering  service  to  humanity.  What 
sacrifices  and  dangers  are  imposed  upon  them  sometimes  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  service,  and  how  shall  we  describe  the  risks  and  dan- 
gers they  run,  and  the  vexations  and  annoyances  to  which  they  are 
subjected  ! 

"  Thus,  a  young  man  is  at  the  ball,  in  the  midst  of  a  fete  resplendent 
with  light  and  beautiful  ladies.  At  the  moment  when  he  is  about  rais- 
ing his  foot  with  the  lady  of  his  love  to  mingle  in  the  first  measures  of 
the  polka,  rich  in  prospective  pressures  of  the  hand  and  glances  of  love, 
behold,  he  is  arrested  all  of  a  sudden;  and  with  neck  outstretched, 
listening  to  a  mysterious  noise,  at  which  he  reconducts  his  partner  to  her 
place,  and  hastens  out  of  the  saloon — but  not  without  throwing  a  piteous 
regret  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  night.  This  young  man  perhaps  had  a 
boot  that  pinched  his  corns,  or,  perhaps,  he  found  himself  taken  with  a 
sudden  indisposition  ?  No — reassure  yourself.  It  is  a  fireman,  who  has 
just  heard,  rising  above  the  harmonious  waves  of  sound  from  the  orches- 
tra, the  alarm  bell  of  the  City  Hall.  He  hurries  to  his  domicile,  if  it  is 
not  too  far  off,  dons  his  red  flannel-shirt,  his  patent-leather  cap ;  and 
behold  him,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  working  at  the  pump,  or  galloping 
in  the  traces,  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  omnibus  horse.  The  fire 
extinguished,  he  dresses  himself  anew,  then  goes  to  resume  the  thread  of 
his  night's  amusement,  and  the  peroration  of  a  love  speech  of  which  ho 
had  not  time  to  come  to  the  conclusion. 

"  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  fires  here  are  less  quickly  extinguished 
than  under  a  different  system.  There  is  not  perhaps  in  the  world  a 
more  energetic,  more  prompt,  more  active  organized  fire  department. 

"  For  the  rest,  the  title  of  fireman,  honorable  as  it  is,  does  not  suffice 
to  constitute  here  a  regular  position.  It  brings  in  nothing,  pecuniarily 
speaking,  and  no  one  enjoys  a  rank  in  the  community  entitling  him  to 
write  on  his  visiting  card,  '  Mr.  Pillicoddy,  fireman.'  In  France  the  fire- 
man forms  part  of  a  corps  (Telite.  He  is  prized  by  the  Government, 
which  accords  to  him  a  high  salary,  and  surrounds  him  With  evidences 
of  distinction.  To  conclude  by  a  last  trait,  which  relates  to  moral  char- 
acter— if  the  French  fireman  has  known  how  to  establish  a  universal 
reputation  for  gallantry — the  oyster-women  are  there  to  bear  witness  of 
it — the  American  fireman  might  pass  for  being  almost  a  savage. 

"  The  firemen  recruit  themselves,  as  we  have  said,  from  all  ranks  of 
society. '  They  are  found  not  only  in  all  the  quarters  of  New  York,  but 
disseminated  over  the  entire  surface  of  the  United  States,  with  such  inhe- 
rent variations  of  physiognomy  as  are  incident  to  the  locality.    Nowhere, 


THE    SPORTING   TIREJIAN".  12? 

however,  is  the  type  more  strongly  defined,  nor  more  distinctly  colored, 
than  in  the  Bowery.  Let  us  then  continue  our  studies  in  this  quarter. . 
It  would  be  difficult  at  the  first  glance  to  recognize  anything  but  a  citizen 
in  a  fire-mac,  because  he  carries  no  visible  badge  of  his  profession ;  but 
in  the  Bowery  there  exist,  however,  certain  peculiarities,  undistinguish- 
able  to  a  person  not  accustomed  to  see  them,  whkh  reveal  infallibly  a 
member  of  this  vast  corporatioo.  There  are  in  this  region  a  class  of 
people  who  have  in  reality  no  other  avowed  profession.  "What  name 
shall  we  give  these?  The  word  fireman  is  scarcely  sufficient.  It  is 
necessary  to  add  to  it  that  of  sportsman,  in  order  to  properly  character- 
ize them.  The  sporting  fireman  is  in  a  certain  circle  a  man  of  conside- 
ration. He  plays  an  important  part  sometimes  in  the  elections,  and  is 
both  throne  and  oracle  in  the  public-houses.  He  is  a  species  of  fier-a- 
b?'as,  whose  power  is  established  by  his  mental  and  moral  peculiarities 
on  one  side,  and  his  brute  force  on  the  other.  His  feudal  dominion 
extends  over  all  those  who  are  attached,  directly  or  indirectly,  to  the 
fancy,  and  to  the  various  kinds  of  sport.  We  must  remark  in  passing 
the  signification  which  is  given  to  this  word  in  New  York.  In  France, 
and  especially  Eugland,  the  sportsman  is  almost  always  a  gentleman, 
who,  for  the  employment  of  his  fortune  and  leisure,  occupies  himself  with 
horses,  with  the  chase,  like  the  gentleman  of  the  middle  ages.  Here, 
save  that  there  may  be  a  few  rich  men  who  follow  the  European  tradi- 
tions, sport  is  for  the  most  part  a  business — the  business  of  those  who 
have  no  business — and  a  means  of  speculation.  One  bets  on  a  boxer,  on 
a  horse,  on  a  card,  or  on  a  bull-dug.  One  gains  or  loses.  This  is  play 
elevated  to  the  rank  of  a  profession ;  and  this  profession,  like  all  others, 
has  its  degrees,  its  hierarchy — from  the  fashionable  gamester,  who  scat- 
ters his  gold  with  a  hand  elegantly  gloved1  in  white  kid,  and  frequents 
the  clubs  of  good  society,  to  the  vagabond  who  rattles  the  dice  or 
shuffles  the  greasy  cards  in  a  low  tavern ;  from  the  elegant  horse-jockey 
who  figures  on  the  Centreville-course,  to  the  buffoon  who  traffics  in 
stolen  dogs.  But  the  mass  of  sportsmen  are  the  hundreds  of  individuals 
of  whom  one  recognizes  figures  that  no  language  names,  and  who  gather 
round  certain  haunts  in  the  Bowery,  and  elsewhere — the  bar-rooms,  and 
other  places  of  public- reunion.  Of  these  one  sees  they  are  sportsmen, 
and  it  is  well  understood  without  further  commentary,  as  when  one  says 
of  another  class,  '  they  are  doctors.' 

"  The  sportiog  fireman  naturally  finds  himself  in  all  places  where 
sporting  aifairs  are  carried  on ;  at  the  Centreville-course,  at  the  gymna- 
siums, in  the  boxiog-saloons,  and,  above  all,  in  the  sporting  coffee-houses, 
where  wagers  are  arranged,  and  matches  made  up. 


128  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

"  The  physique  of  the  sporting  fireman  is  peculiar  to  himself,  and  we 
find  in  him  even  a  certain*  brutal  poetry  which  is  his  seal  and  stamp. 
He  is  rarely  handsome,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  almost  always  he  is 
literally  ugly.  His  stature  and  carriage  are  striking,  and  his  gait  solid, 
yet  elastic.  He  has  great  strength,  and  a  spirit  of  grace  in  his  move- 
ment. On  his  head  (the  hair  of  which  is  smoothed  with  soap  in  puffs 
below  the  ears,  and  in  large  ringlets  around  them,  that  which  has  given 
birth,  we. presume,  to  the  word  'soaplock'  as  solely  applied  to  this  class) 
he  wears  a  hat  with  a  straight  brim,  and  of  the  shape  and  fashion  of  a 
chimney-pot.  The  hat  inclined  over  the  eyes,  leaves  open  to  view  the 
immense  posterior  of  the  occiput.  Around  the  neck  the  hair  is  cut 
short,  and  resembles  the  mane  of  a  certain  animal  who  is  scraped  before 
being  transformed  to  brushes,  sausages  and  hams.  Around  his  neck 
hangs,  with  a  sort  of  coquettish  negligence,  a  cravat  of  some  color,  red, 
yellow,  or  blue,  the  ends  of  which  are  arranged  in  flourishing  spirals,  and 
float  like  pennants  on  the  wind.  The  collar  opened,  when  collar  there 
is,  permits  to  be  seen  a  muscular  chest,  where  sun  and  whisky  have 
traced  their  blushing  imprint.  A  red  flannel-shirt,  fastened  on  the 
breast  with  large  buttons,  black  or  white,  and  pantaloons,  secured  around 
the  waist  with  a  band  of  leather ;  boots  of  strong  leather  worn  over  the 
pantaloons:  such  is  in  general  the  costume  of  the  sporting  fireman. 
Add  to  this  bizarre  costume  the  historical  and  necessary  complement, 
the  tobacco  quid  illuminating  with  fancy  designs  the  margin  of  his 
mouth,  and  the  picture  is  complete. 

"  The  occupation,  avowed  and  public,  of  these  men,  is  firemen.  As 
to  gaming,  which  furnishes  them  with  their  real  means  of  existence, 
they  consider  it  merely  as  an  accessory,  an  agreeable  accomplishment, 
but  an  accomplishment  by  which  they  live. 

"This  class  of  individuals  is  more  num'erous  than  one  would  naturally 
suppose.  There  are  in  New  York  an  entire  class  who  have  no  other  life. 
However  unfavorable  to  morals  may  be  such  an  existence,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary, therefore,  to  imagine  that  it  excludes  all  good  sentiments.  The 
fireman  is  brave,  adventurous,  and  in  the  ensemble  of  his  character,  not- 
withstanding the  tendency  towards  vicious  habits  and  debased  instincts, 
possesses  a  certain  elevation  of  soul  which  makes  itself  visible  some- 
times, and  of  which  many  examples  might  be  cited.  The  gambling- 
house,  the  house  of  prostitution,  the  groggery,  are  the  habitual  sphere 
where  he  expends  his  active  life ;  and  it  is  not  wonderful  that  such  an 
existence  should  go  far  to  extinguish  all  his  noble  faculties.  But  in  the 
midst  of  this  dissipation  and  demoralization,  there  are  moments  in  which 
burns  a  pure  generosity  and  a  disinterested  morality.     It  is  only  in  part. 


«<    T.A  VT.-D-" 


fancy"  firemen.  129 

it  is  true.  A  brutality,  carried  sometimes  almost  to  the  point  of  cruelty, 
seems  to  be  the  foundation  of  his  nature,  although  he  is  susceptible  of 
devoted  attachment  and  profound  friendship.  One  circumstance  goes 
far  to  neutralize  the  value  of  these  generous  instincts — and  this  is,  that 
they  are  exercised  too  often  on  those  who  are  unworthy  of  them,  and  are 
manifested  almost  always  by  acts  of  a  puerility  so  exaggerated  that  the 
fact  makes  us  forget  the  cause,  and  the  action  disqualifies  us  from  appre- 
ciating the  motive. 

"  Adjacent  to  the  sphere  of  the  sporting  fireman  we  find  another  class 
of  individuals,  happily  less  numerous,  to  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to 
give  a  decorous  name  if  the  American  writers  themselves  had  not 
resolved  the  difficulty  by  styling  them  "  fancy  firemen."  These  leave 
far  behind  them  the  first,  who,  although  of  questionable  morality,  are 
not  directly  nuisances  to  society.  The  fancy  firemen  have  not  even  the 
speculations  of  play  for  a  means  of  subsistence.  They  live  one  knows 
not  how,  sleeping  one  knows  not  where- — and  yet  they  live  and  sleep. 
When  night  descends  upon  the  city,  the  fancy  firemen  set  themselves  at 
work,  and  you  may  see  them  circulating,  seeking  adventures,  inundating 
the  bar-rooms,  insulting  women,  quarrelling  among  themselves,  fighting, 
and  making  false  alarms  of  fire,  for  the  express  purpose,  in  the  language 
of  their  oratory,  of  getting  up  a  muss — that  is  to  say,  a  tumultuous 
scramble,  in  which  they  and  their  friends  always  find  means  to  play  a 
conspicuous  part.  With  these  men  nothing  is  entitled  to  respect  but 
the  baton  of  the  policeman.  They  are  the  froth  that  gathers  and  fer- 
ments in  the  popular  quarters,  the  scourge  of  honest  laborers,  the  nur- 
sery whence  are  recruited  the  pensioners  of  the  Tombs,  the  philosopher's 
stone  to  the  Chief  of  Police.  The  fancy  men  have  an  unknown  origin. 
Like  rivers  whose  sources  have  not  yet  been  discovered,  we  only  know 
whence  they  run — to  the  penitentiary.  The  family  for  them  is  a  myth, 
and  they  seem  to  have  been  created,  like  pestiferous  insects,  from  the 
miasma  of  the  streets  and  gutters.  Social  mushrooms,  they  grow  up, 
live,  and  die  on  the  dunghill.  They  form,  in  the  language  of  our  friend, 
G.  G.  Foster,  '  a  regular  cordon  of  rascality.' 

"It  is  impossible  to  give  a  complete  description  of  this  tribe  of 
equivocal  firemen,  for  there  is  nothing  definite  concerning  them  but  the 
vagabondage  of  their  existence.  In  all  the  great  cities  they  exist,  and 
escape  the  eye  of  the  observer  for  the  very  logical  reason  that  they  are 
seldom  seen  in  the  daytime.  Nothing  short  of  a  general  perturbation 
brings  them  to  the  surface.  A  political  emeute,  for  example,  or  a  fire  ; 
for  in  either  of  these  cases  they  are  enabled  to  inherit  without  discovery 


130  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

some  of  tlie  spoils  and  property  of  others.  Here,  fires  being  frequent, 
the  fancy  men  have  an  occupation  in  some  sort  permanent,  and  for  this 
reason  doubtless  it  is  that  they  are  called  "  the  men  what  run  with  the 
engine."  This  sympathy  manifested  by  the  fancy  men  for  the  fire 
engine,  sometimes  classes  them  in  the  ranks  of  firemen ;  but  it  would  be 
treating  them  with  far  too  much  honor  to  suppose  for  an  instant  that 
they  belong  to  that  occupation.  It  is  in  fact  the  first  to  disown  them. 
It  possesses  far  too  correct  a  sense  of  its  own  dignity  and  respect  for 
honesty,  not  to  repulse  these  miserable  excrescences  who  endeavor  to 
attach  themselves  to  it.  The  sportsman  himself  does  not  tolerate  the 
fancy  man,  except  on  conditions  that  he  confines  himself  within  legal 
limits.  In  despite  of  these  parasitical  hornets,  for  which  they  ought  not 
to  be  considered  responsible,  the  body  of  the  firemen  are  unquestionably 
worthy,  of  great  consideration ;  for  they  are  composed,  in  an  immense 
majority,  of  honest  and  laborious  workmen,  of  clerks  belonging  to  respec- 
table establishments,  often  even  of  masters  and  proprietors  of  shops  and 
stores.  The  sporting  fireman  himself,  viewed  only  in  his  devotion  to  the 
public  welfare,  ought  not  to  be  excluded  from  this  majority ;  for  it  is 
possible  to  gamble  and  yet  to  be  a  good  citizen.  However  venturesome 
this  assertion  may  seem,  it  is  however,  in  the  United  States  no  less  than 
elsewhere,  a  national  trait,  and  frequently  this  daring  and  venturous 
spirit  of  speculation  rises  to  the  confines  of  sublimity. 

"  The  firemen  form  an  institution  highly  useful,  highly  moral,  highly 
philanthropic,  and  those  who  belong  to  it  are  always  ready  at  the  first 
sound  of  the  bell  to  expose  their  lives  for  the  good  of  the  community, 
employing  in  their  voluntary  mission  a  constant  energy  and  a  devotion 
often  heroic,  meriting  the  sympathies  of  all  honest  men  and  a  fair  place 
in  public  opinion." 

These  views  of  the  firemen  of  New  York,  and  of  their  excrescences 
and  fungi,  are  in  the  main  remarkably  correct,  and  betray  great  intelli- 
gence and  carefulness  of  observation.  If  the  tone  and  spirit  of  this 
writer  were  emulated  by  the  generality  of  foreigners  who  employ  their 
pens  upon  the  manners,  customs,  institutions  and  inhabitants  of  the 
United  States,  we  should  be  much  better  known  and  much  better  res- 
pected abroad  than  we  have  at  present  any  chance  of  being.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  the  great  body  of  the  New  York  firemen  are,  as  stated  by 
our  French  contemporary,  honest,  useful  and  educated  men.  Since  the 
decay  of  our  militia  system,  which  has  been  regularly  laughed  out  of 
existence  as  a  ridiculous  and  useless  humbug,  the  warlike  and  chivalrous 
spirit  of  the  middle  ages  has  concentrated  itself  in  our  fire  companies ; 
while  as  to  this  spirit  among  the  more  pretentious  and  aristocratic  circles 


fireman's  hall.  131 

of  our  population,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  it  does  not  exist.  One  of  the 
distinguishing  characteristics  of  the  firemen  is  their  great  attachment 
and  devotion  to  each  other ;  and  although  they  frequently  indulge  in 
fights  and  quarrels,  and  even  establish  hereditary  hostilities  that  continue 
from  year  to  year,  yet  their  contests,  even  including  brickbats  and  bloody 
noses,  should  be  regarded  strictly  in  the  illustrations  of  their  amusements, 
Their  habits  of  exposure  and  reckless  disregard  of  danger  create  in  them 
a  kind  of  savage  necessity  for  rough  play ;  and  we  have  often  imagined 
that  the  dainty  little  lap-dogs  that  run  about  on  sunny  afternoons  in 
Union  Square,  must  look  upon  the  occasional  encounters  of  the  New 
Foundlanders  and  bull-dogs  occurrinor  on  the  outside  of  the  railings  with 
very  much  the  same  sort  of  shuddering  as  our  effeminate  ducks  and 
dandies  regard  the  bear's-play  exercise  of  the  firemen  and  the  b'hoys. 
Indeed,  the  soul  of  the  fire  department  is  emulation,  and  to  the  free  play 
of  this  passion  we  are  indebted  for  the  unparalleled  and  incredible 
efficiency  and  promptness,  the  unshrinking  exposure  and  labor,  that 
characterize  its  proceedings  in  so  remarkable  a  manner.  It  is  of  course 
natural  that  sometimes  this  spirit  of  emulation  should  lead  to  excesses  *, 
but  the  spirit  of  rowdyism  has  never  in  New  York  been  permitted  to 
obtain  a  permanent  influence  upon  our  fire  department.  And  although 
it  is  now  and  then  disgraced  by  the  deeds  of  the  fancy  men  and  ruffians 
who  endeavor  on  all  occasions  to  link  themselves  with  it,  and  clothe  their 
3vil  deeds  with  the  sanction  of  its  name,  yet  as  a  general  thing,  the  res- 
pectability and  honesty  of  the  department  cannot  be  questioned. 

The  firemen  of  Williamsburg  some  two  years  ago  made  a  movement, 
under  the  authority  and  patronage  of  the  city  government,  which 
demands  our  particular  notice,  and  is  entirely  in  accordance  with  the 
views  entertained  and  advocated  in  this  work.  They  started  the  project 
of  building  a  large  and  handsome  edifice  to  be  entitled  the  "  Fireman's 
Hall,"  to  be  furnished  with  rooms  for  lecturing,  for  scientific  experiments, 
for  meeting  of  the  various  companies,  drill-rooms  and  reading  room9,  a 
dancing  hall  and  concert  rooms,  and  in  short,  every  means  for  the 
improvement  and  amusement  of  the  firemen,  at  present  accessible  only 
partially  and  under  disadvantageous  circumstances,  and  so  not  used  at 
all.  Nothing  can  be  more  important  than  this  movement,  if  we  look  at 
it  not  merely  for  itself,  but  as  an  indication  of  what  is  to  come.  It  is  a 
movement  which  ought  to  be  and  must  be  sooner  or  later  extended  to 
every  other  craft  and  profession.  Nothing  is  so  much  needed  at  the 
present  moment  as  the  developing  and  elevating  of  the  minds  of  the 
members  of  our  various  mechanical  professions,  and  the  establishing  of  a 
refined  and  noble  ambition  for  excelling,  not  only  in  the  material  and 


132  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

physical  labors  of  their  occupation,  but  in  the  intelligence,  morality  and 
intellectual  usefulness  of  the  members.  We  would  hold  up  both  our 
hands  to  see  the  creation  of  an  institution  which  should  be  the  intellec- 
tual counterpart  of  the  glass  palace  of  the  London  World's  Fair. 

It  is  the  one  great  and  most  discouraging  fact  of  the  present  age,  that  in 
the  insane  rush  for  physical,  material  and  mechanical  development,  that 
mental  and  spiritual  emulation  which  can  alone  ripen  the  heart,  illumi- 
nate the  soul,  and  purify  society  of  its  monstrous  horrors,  has  been  almost 
wholly  neglected.  To  this  is  owing  the  existence  of  such  large  and 
unmanageable  masses  of  low  and  ignorant  ruffianism,  of  which  our 
Parisian  friend  has  just  been  speaking.  The  number  and  character  of 
the  rowdy  and  vagabond  population  of  New  York,  to  those  who  only  go 
easily  through  life,  and  cast  their  eyes  but  upon  the  surface  of  things 
around  them,  is  quite  incredible.  Hundreds  and  even  thousands  of  them 
go  nightly  prowling  about  the  city,  or  gathering  in  the  vilest  and  most 
loathsome  dens  of  gambling,  theft  and  prostitution  in  wretched  quarters 
of  the  town,  congregating  in  low  groggeries  and  continually  engaged 
in  contriving  schemes  and  adventures  of  depredation  upon  the  property 
or  the  security  of  society.  The  two  conspicuous  antitheses  of  this  phase 
in  New  York  life  are  the  fancy  men  of  whom  we  have  been  speaking, 
and  the  foreigners,  chiefly  Dutch  and  Irish,  who  keep  small  groceries  and 
low  grog-shops  in  the  squalid  precincts  of  the  city.  The  fancy  men,  to 
our  disgrace  be  it  spoken — and  we  will  as  honestly  tell  the  truth  about 
our  own  citizens  as  of  foreigners — are  almost  exclusively  native-born 
Americans.  Reared  in  complete  idleness  and  utter  ignorance,  they  are 
not  a  whit  more  elevated  in  character  and  motive  than  the  savao-es  of 
the  wilderness.  They  are  continually  in  want,  because  they  have  no 
idea  of  earning  anything  by  work ;  and  when  they  make  a  lucky  haul 
by  stealing  at  a  fire  or  swindling  some  greenhorn  or  drunken  stranger, 
they  hasten  to  expend  the  product  to  the  last  pent  in  the  Dutch  groggery 
or  the  negro  brothel,  and  the  next  morning  are  as  destitute  as  ever. 
Then  they  go  prowling  about  among  the  haunts  where  they  spent  their 
money,  while  a  vague  sense  of  savage  justice  leads  them  to  think  it  no 
more  than  right  that  those  who  have  received  all  their  money  for  rotten 
whisky  and  poisoned  brandy,  now  that  it  is  gone,  should  continue  to 
furnish  them  with  those  delightful  commodities  for  nothing.  But  the 
Dutchman  is  like  a  sensitive  plant — the  moment  he  feels  the  approach 
of  a  customer  without  money,  he  instinctively  closes  his  till,  stops  up  his 
bottles  and  bungs  his  barrels.  His  hypocritical  politeness,  with  which 
he  dealt  out  the  poison  so  long  as  the  b'hoy  had  money,  has  vanished, 
and  with  a  cold  and  sourkrout  look,  he  tells  him  to  go  about  his  busi- 


THE    B'HOY.  133 

ness.     This  is  touching  the  b'hoy  in  a  tender  point.     He  would  not 

mind  being  refused  credit ;  but  to  be  "  sassed  "  by  the Dutch 

son  of  a is  more  than  he  can  bear  !     All  the  b'hoy  and  all  the 

real  native  American  is  at  once  roused  in  his  whole  bein^.     He  medi- 

O 

tates  seriously  how  he  may  gratify  his  thirst  for  revenge  and  rot-gut ; 
and  gathering  his  chums  together,  all  of  whom  have  at  various  times 
and  in  various  places  suffered  the  same  indignity,  a  plan  is  set  on  foot  to 
redeem  the  honor  of  the  native  American  name,  and  revenge  themselves 
upon  the  whole  race  of  bloody  foreigners.  This  leads  to  the  nightly 
enactment  of  scenes  of  violence  and  rowdyism,  terminated  by  the  inter- 
vention of  the  police,  but  more  frequently  permitted,  by  the  proverbial 
supineness  of  those  guardians  of  the  publie  tranquillity,  to  proceed  to  riot, 
battery  and  bloodshed ;  and  our  criminal  records  are  not  wanting  in 
evidences  that  this  foul  conspiracy  abainst  public  order,  promoted  by  the 
natural  antagonism  of  these  despicable  foreign  rumsellers,  and  atrocious 
native  blackguards,  leads  frequently  to  homicide  and  murder.  Laws 
have  been  found  utterly  inefficient  to  check  this  rampant  evil,  and  an 
illustration  of  the  details  of  all  that  we  have  been  indicating  in  these 
general  terms  is  afforded  by  the  trial  of  Pritchard,  who  murdered 
a  Dutchman  in  cold  blood  because  he  would  not  trust  him  for  rum. 
Judge  Edmonds,  with  that  frank  sincerity  and  candor  which  has  begun 
to  characterize  our  bench  since  the  election  of  judges  by  the  people, 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  have  the  law  carried  out  in  its  manifest 
and  just  meaning,  but  in  vain.  So  precious  is  regarded  human  life  by 
the  enlightened  sense  of  the  nineteenth  century,  that  even  the  breath  of 
a  criminal  must  not  be  stopt  by  a  jury,  save  under  circumstances  of  some 
peculiar  atrocity ;  and  the  observation  of  Judge  Edmonds,  that  he  was 
forced  to  rank  himself  among  the  opponents  of  capital  punishment,  if  for 
no  other  reason  than  because  it  was  impossible  to  induce  juries  to  inflict 
the  pain  of  death,  is  a  striking  and  irresistible  argument  for  the  abolition 
of  the  gallows,  and  the  total  and  radical  revolution  in  our  whole  system 
of  criminal  jurisprudence. 

"We  forgot  to  mention  in  the  proper  place  an  important  function  per- 
formed by  our  corps  of  regular  firemen,  that  of  a  volunteer  militia.  If 
it  were  possible  to  imagine  a  series  of  events  which  would  again  bring 
into  request  the  arms  of  our  citizens,  for  defense  against  the  aggression? 
of  a  foreign  invader,  it  would  not  be  possible  more  thoroughly,  promptly 
and  efficiently,  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  such  a  case  than  by  the  out- 
pouring of  our  brave  and  hardy  fire  companies,  every  one  of  which  is 
also  a  military  company,  and  under  a  regular  and  thorough  system  of 
military  drill  and  tactics.    A  continuous  alarm  of  the  fire-bell  of  the  City 


134  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

Hall  would  in  thirty  minutes  gather  an  army  of  dauntless  and  herculean 
citizen  soldiers,  who  would  defend  our  coast  against  all  the  armed  hosts 
that  could  be  thrown  upon  it  by  all  the  powers  of  Europe — but  this  con- 
sideration is  of  little  worth  to  us,  for  we  do .  not  believe  in  the  remoto 
possibility  of  any  such  event.  It  would  greatly  please  and  delight  us  if 
we  could  see  this  gallant  spirit  of  daring  and  emulation  in  submission  to 
general  toil  and  hardship,  when  not  required  in  the  extinguishment  of 
fires,  diverted  to  some  of  the  innumerable  grand  and  ennobling  purposes 
of  physical  improvement  of  which  the  age  is  so  greatly  in  need. 

We  must  not  dismiss  the  subject  of  the  firemen  without  alluding  to 
the  youths  and  boys,  five  hundred  of  whom  are  at  this  moment  rushing 
tumultuously  along  behind  £he  fire  procession,  and  whose  faces,  habili- 
ments and  general  carriage,  denote  them  too  truly  the  inevitable  followers 
and  emulators  of  the  older  vagabonds  we  have  been  trying  to  character- 
ize. There  cannot  be  on  the  earth  another  sadder  nor  more  melancholy 
sight  than  that  of  these  multitudes  of  prematurely  barbarized  and  brutal- 
ized youths,  growing  up  in  idleness,  depravity  and  vagabondage, 
throughout  the  city.  Not  only  they  themselves  are  objects  of  our 
keenest  commiseration,  but  the  inevitable  influence  of  such  masses  of 
young,  fermenting  and  active  depravity,  yearly  growing  up  to  manhood, 
and  thrown  into  the  great  arena  of  metropolitan  life,  is  a  phenomenon 
that  inspires  the  moralist  and  the  philanthropist  with  despair.  Oh ! 
when  will  society  grasp  this  mighty  evil,  and  extinguish  it  ?  When  will 
it  see  how  feeble  and  futile  are  all  its  miserable  expedients,  its  alms- 
bouses,  its  pauper  institutions  of  emigrant  out-door  charity,  its  Black- 
well's  Island,  its  farm  schools,  its  asylums  and  its  penitentiaries  ?  When 
will  the  scales  fall  from  the  eyes  of  those  who  blindly  lead  a  blind  civili- 
zation staggering  to  its  death  ?  When  will  it  be  seen  that  these  poor 
beings,  the  corrupt  leaven  that  ferments  the  whole  body  politic  with 
disease  and  crime,  are  composed  of  noble  and  holy  souls,  and  spirits  like 
unto  other  men,  and  that,  from  whatever  cause  they  have  grown  thus 
helpless  amid  the  living  death  that  surrounds  them,  they  are  entitled  to 
claim  of  the  great  human  family,  of  which  they  are  the  most  unfortunate 
members,  that  protection  from  themselves,  that  escape  from  want  and 
ignorance  and  a  horrible  and  hopeless  existence,  which  is  the  birthright 
of  every  son  and  daughter  of  humanity  ?  When  will  the  community 
learn  that  it  is  the  community  itself  who  commits  the  first  crime,  and 
that  the  vile  deeds  and  terrible  destinies  of  these  wretched  beings  are  but 
the  inevitable  retributien  for  its  own  awful  neglect  of  its  fundamental 
duties  ?     How  miserably  inadequate  to  the  good  to  be  accomplished  are 


• 


A   MODEL   INSTITUTION.  135 

all  the  means  by  which  society  feebly  attempts  to  reconcile  itself  with  its 
aspirations,  and  harmonize  its  attributes  with  its  destiny ! 

Let  us  imagine  for  a  moment  a  sum  of  money  equal  to  that  annually 
consumed  by  either  of  those  worse  than  useless  institutions,  the  army  and 
navy  of  the  United  States,  and  let  this  sum  be  appropriated  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  schools,  farms  and  workshops  united,  affording  adequate 
means  of  instruction,  employment  and  amusement  suited  to  every  taste, 
every  condition  and  every  capacity  of  the  young.  Let  the  law  of  this 
institution  be  that  every  species  of  instruction  in  every  department  shall 
be  at  all  times  going  on,  and  that  there  shall  be  no  restraint  whatever 
upon  the  inmates  as  to  the  hours  of  their  coming  and  going,  or  of  the  occu- 
pations, studies,  pursuits  and  employments,  in  which  they  wish  to  engage 
themselves.  Let  there  be  no  caprice  nor  inclination  except  indecorum, 
which  cannot  be  unrestrictedly  and  at  the  moment  indulged,  and  let  the 
only  punishment  for  even  indecorum  or  disorder,  be  exclusion.  The  edu- 
cational department  of  this  institution  should  include  the  languages  and 
the  common  branches,  and  the  thorough  and  complete  study  and 
practice  of  all  the  fine  arts,  music,  architecture,  painting,  sculpture,  the 
science  of  chemistry  in  all  its  infinite  and  beautiful  ramifications,  natural 
history,  with  practical  illustrations  and  examples,  book-keeping,  composi- 
tion, eloquence.  Every  inmate  should  be  entirely  at  liberty  to  go  from 
any  one  of  these  employments  to  any  other  of  them  at  any  hour  he 
liked,  and  to  change  as  often  as  the  inclination  seized  him ;  or  to  leave 
altogether  the  school-rooms,  and  to  visit  the  shops  of  the  mechanics, 
where  every  species  of  mechanical  labor,  of  invention,  of  machinery,  is 
taught  and  perfected.  After  wearying  himself  here,  let  the  eager  pupil 
either  resort  to  the  playground,  the  gymnasium  or  the  riding-school,  for 
a  new  excitement,  or  to  the  garden  and  the  fields  for  the  study  and  prac- 
tice of  practical  agriculture  and  botany,  or  the  gratification  of  some 
peculiar  taste  in  the  cultivation  of  a  particular  flower  or  fruit,  or  the 
adornment  of  a  favorite  field.  When  mind  and  body  were  thus  harmo- 
niously cultivated,  strengthened  and  developed,  by  a  round  of  occu- 
«tions  and  employments,  each  spontaneous,  and  all  strengthening 
d  delightful,  let  there  be  opportunities  for  these  young  pupils  of 
humanity  to  indulge  in  unrestricted  social  intercourse,  or  resort  to  the 
diviner  pleasures  of  music  or  the  drama  heard  in  their  perfection,  or  the 
more  silent  teachings  of  the  gallery  of  statuary  and  painting,  where  the 
great  lessons  of  the  immortal  beautiful,  raying  from  the  warm-colored 
painting,  or  the  life-like  statuary,  imprint  themselves  in  the  colors  of 
happiness  for  ever  in  the  heart  and  the  understanding.  Let  us  imagine  a 
life  like  this  for  thes9  deformed  and  miserable  young  wretches,  who 


136  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

haunt  the  lanes  and  by-ways,  and  courts  and  cellars  of  the  metropolis, 
living  upon  filth,  and  imbibing  vice,  disease  and  immorality,  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave ;  and  what  would  be  the  result  ?  Think  you  that 
under  regulations  like  these,  our  Tombs,  our  Blackwell's  Island,  our  hos- 
pitals and  our  penitentiaries  would  not  speedily  become  diverted  to  more 
satisfactory,  and  more  beautiful  purposes?  Nay,  our  very  City  Hall 
itself,  the  home  of  courts  and  lawyers,  would  become  illuminated  with  a 
new  spirit,  and  its  spacious  halls  and  chambers  resound  to  the  refining 
language  of  art,  literature  and  science,  while  it  would  exhale  around  it 
an  atmosphere  of  moral  purity  and  refinement,  that  would  extend  like 
circles  in  the  water  to  the  remotest  bounds  of  public  sentiment. 

Under  such  a  state  of  existence  as  this,  can  we  imagine  that  any  would 
grow  up  willful,  vicious,  ignorant,  and  polluted  %  No ;  most  truly  we 
cannot  imagine  such  a  thing;  if  there  be  those  acrid,  envious,  and  embit- 
tered souls  who  can,  it  is  not  for  them  we  hope  and  write.  It  is  not  for 
them  that  these  prophecies  of  what  will  be  are  recorded. 

The  one  great  objection  among  rational  minds  to  a  scheme  like  this, 
i-  the  unfounded  charge  of  inherent  idleness  brought  against  humanity. 
Well,  let  those  who  choose  be  idle ;  or  let  them  do  nothing  but  play. 
They  would  soon  find  that  play  was  the  most  irksome  of  all  employments. 
While  all  round  them  were  emulous  of  useful  occupations  and  of  distin- 
guishing themselves  in  profitable  pursuits,  how  long  would  it  be  before 
their  ambition  to  mingle  in  the  exciting  strife,  everywhere  going  on 
around,  would,  in  turn,  become  excited  ?  Emulation  is  one  of  the  eter- 
nal laws  of  human  existence.  The  other  law,  equally  universal  and 
equally  eternal,  is  that  of  physical  activity.  Every  human  being  feels  a 
constant  impulse  to  surpass  somebody,  and  to  be  employed.  The  cause 
of  idleness,  and  of  the  irksomeness  of  profitable  labor  is,  that  now-a-days, 
by  our  present  system,  the  great  majority  of  those  who  labor  are  con- 
fined perpetually  to  one  kind  of  work,  which  becomes  tiresome  and 
monotonous  to  an  inexpressible  degree  ;  and  in  addition  to  this,  they  are 
so  overworked,  until  the  natural  spring  and  elasticity  of  their  bodies  are 
over-tasked  and  over-wrought,  that  all  kinds  of  exertion  become  abW- 
rent  and  repulsive.  This  it  is  that  has  brought  upon  mankind  the  cruel 
and  most  unjust  charge  of  idleness.  It  is  impossible  for  human  beings 
to  be  idle ;  and  it  is  because  so  many  thousands  are  compelled  to  do  that 
which  they  dislike,  or  are  prevented  from  doing  that  which  they  would, 
that  such  horrible  disturbance  between  recreation  and  labor,  between 
activity  and  repose,  is  continually  sending  its  moral  thunder  storms  into 
the  atmosphere  of  life.  If  every  one  had  the  privilege  and  the  means  of 
laboring  at  what  he  liked,  and  changing  his  occupations  when  he  would, 


SLOP-SHOPS   AND    "  SWEATERS."  13t 

there  would  be  more  than  enough  work  performed  to  provide  in  abun- 
dant luxury  every  species  of  product  required  by  all,  and  that,  too,  at  a 
rate  and  proportion  of  active  labor  trifling  in  comparison  to  the  terrible 
taxations  at  present  imposed  upon  the  working  and  professional  classes, 
and  which,  in  fact,  in  a  healthy  condition  of  life  and  society  such  as  this, 
would  produce  nothing  but  the  mere  and  necessary  spontaneous  exertion 
of  the  frame. 

One  of  the  first  necessities  for  lifting  the  laboring  class  from  their  pre- 
sent degraded  and  degrading  position  is  provision  for  their  innocent  and 
profitable  recreation.  As  a  means  of  this,  the  Williamsburg  movement, 
although  small  and  comparatively  insignificant  of  itself,  is  clearly  in  the 
right  direction ;  and  we  fervently  hope  that  it  will  be  not  only  speedily 
carried  out,  but  emulated  and  surpassed  in  our  own  city.  The  dedica- 
tion of  such  an  institution  would  be  to  us  an  imposing,  solemn,  yet 
encouraging  and  hopeful  occasion. 

Meanwhile,  and  during  the  period  necessary  for  any  new  and  good 
idea  to  take  root  in  the  soil  of  this  society,  which  so  spontaneously  pro- 
duces every  worthless  and  bitter  weed,  we  will  point  the  attention  of  all 
Christian  employers  to  one  of  the  sorest  and  closest  evils  under  which 
thousands  of  our  poor  journeyman  mechanics  are  now  laboring, — we 
allude  to  that  accursed  system  of  slop-work,  so  thoroughly  exposed  in  the 
recent  investigations  of  Mr.  Mayhew,  in  the  "  Morning  Chronicle,"  and 
whi«h,  amidst  certain  kinds  of  occupations,  prevail  proportionally  to  as 
great  an  extent  in  this  city  as  in  London.  By  this  nefarious  traffic  in  the 
labor  of  those  who,  at  best,  can  earn  but  the  barest  subsistence  by  the 
most  continuous  and  exhausting  toil,  whole  classes  of  heartless  specula-, 
tors,  or,  as  they  are  called  among  the  tailors,  "  sweaters,"  are  enabled  to 
realize  large  sums  weekly — absolutely  plucked  from  the  miserable  earn- 
ings of  the  workmen  themselves  !  It  is  only  an  extension  and  ramifica- 
tion of  the  detestable  contract-system,  by  which  a  sharper  undertakes  to 
perform  a  certain  amount  of  work  for  a  trifle  lower  than  the  usual  rates, 
and  then  farms  it  out  to  the  most  needy,  miserable,  and  spiritless  work- 
men he  can  find,  carrying  competition  to  its  lowest  and  most  wretched 
extent,  and  thus  enabling  himself  to  pocket  from  the  contract  a  large 
slice  of  the  entire  sum.  Thus  not  onlv  are  the  workmen  and  workwomen 
prevented  from  approaching  directly  the  consumers  of  what  they  pro- 
duce, but  they  are  not  even  permitted  to  deal  directly  with  the  proprietor 
or  master  workman  who  employs  them.  Sometimes  even  the  sweater 
himself  employs  under-sweaters,  who,  in  turn,  must  make  their  profits 
from  the  job ;  and  so,  in  the  end,  the  at  first  inadequate  payment  given 
for  the  work  is  taxed,  first  by  the  master-workman  for  his  profits  and  the 

9 


138  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

support  of  his  splendid  shop  and  his  elegant  and  fashionable  family  up 
town  ;  next,  for  the  greedy  profit  of  the  remorseless  shaver  and  sharper; 
and  then  again,  for  one  or  two,  and  sometimes  three,  of  his  underlings. 
In  such  a  state  of  things  as  this — an  absolutely  dishonest  and  fraudulent 
appropriation  of  the  earnings  of  the  workmen — it  is  incredible  that  the 
workman  himself  can  live  at  all ;  and  when  we  reflect  that  this  abomin- 
able system,  this  monstrous  outrage  upon  every  decent  principle  and 
teaching  of  humanity,  pervades  the  whole  classes  of  labor  and  feeds  upon 
entire  trades  and  crafts,  we  can  no  longer  wonder  at  the  wretchedness, 
the  dishonesty,  the  intemperance,  and  the  depravity  in  which  the  lower 
classes  of  our  working  population  are  grovelling.  Here,  again,  in  our 
own  city,  interposes  the  shapeless  horror  of  foreign  immigration.  It  is 
to  the  ignorant  and  poor-spirited  foreign  population  that  the  sweater  of 
every  kind  takes  his  labor  to  be  performed.  With  the  assurance  of 
ignorance  and  despair,  they  eagerly  undertake  to  do  any  kind  of  work 
for  any  price  ;  so  that  gradually,  although  customers  complain,  and  the 
public's  half-made  garments  are  falling  from  their  backs,  the  work  is 
taken  from  the  hands  of  the  educated  and  thoroughly-trained  journey- 
men— whose  honorable  spirit  leads  them  rather  to  starve  than  to  disgrace 
their  trade  and  their  humanity — and  given  to  these  wretched  helots  and 
paupers,  who  not  only  burden  beyond  endurance  the  public  charity  of 
the  country,  but  snatch  the  work  and  fair  recompense  of  toil,  in  the  gift 
of  the  community,  from  the  hands  and  mouths  of  the  honest  and 
deserving. 

But  this  is  by  no  means  a  solitary  evil  in  our  present  system  of  work 
and  reward ;   it  is  but  one  fact  in  a  whole  history  of  injustice  and  wrong 
— a  single  phenomenon  of  a  world  of  ill.     The  whole  idea  of  the  proper 
distribution  of  rewards  for  different  kinds  of  labor  is  completely  inverted; 
and    those   kinds   of   labor   and   occupation,    pleasant,   delightful,    and 
instructive  in  themselves,  and  which  impart  a  positive  pleasure  to  their 
doers,  are  rewarded  with  the  highest  and  almost  limitless  compensa- 
tions ;   while  those  suffering  and  humble  individuals  who  perform  the 
arduous,  the  exhausting,  the  injurious,  and  the  repulsive  tasks  of  society — 
and  which,  be  it  remembered,  must  be  performed  if  society  would  hold 
itself  together — are  deprived  of  all  respect  and  honor  for  their  heroic 
labors,  and  fobbed  off  with  a  measure  of  reward  and  compensation  so 
mean  and  contemptible,  as  scarcely  to  furnish  them  with  the  most  com- 
mon necessaries  of  a  miserable  life.     Is  it  not  a  self-evident,  natural  law 
of  labor  and  compensation,  that  those  kinds  of  service  which  require  the 
greatest  expenditure  of  strength,  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  feeling,  of  com- 
fort, or  of  health,  should  receive  the  highest  reward? — while  those  who 


LOW    ESTIMATE    OF    FEMALE    LABOR.  139 

labor  only  in  gay  and  smiling  fields,  surrounded  with  aromatic  flowers, 
and  cheered  by  an  ever-present  sunshine,  should  be   content  with  the 
delights  of  their  existence,  their  immunity  from  severe  compulsory  toil, 
and  the  more  perfect  development  of  their  bodies  and  spirits,  wholly 
unattainable  by  the  orders  of  workmen,  upon  whose  illy-requited  exer- 
tions they  live  and  prosper  ?     Ought  not,  in  strict  justice,  he  who  drains 
our  marshes,  cleanses  the  cloacce  of  great  cities,  builds  our  railroads  and 
our  canals,  performs  the  menial  offices  of  our  households  and  prisons — 
ought  he  not  really  to  deserve  a  higher  reward  than  he  who  busies  him- 
self with  some  graceful  occupation  that  but  agreeably  employs  his  time, 
and  furnishes  him  only  the  natural  exercise  of  body  and  mind  required 
by  the  common  law  of  his  existence  ?     Surely,  surely  this  is  but  plain 
truth  and  common  sense ;   yet  so  perverted  have  become  all  the  ideas 
respecting  the  rights  and  justice  of  labor,  that  it  will,  doubtless,  by  a 
majority  of  the  intelligent  and  respectable  persons  who  peruse  these 
pages,  be  pished  and  pshawed   at  as  a  ridiculous   and  impracticable 
innovation. 

But  in  no  department  of  human  labor  has  the  doctrine  of  a  false  and 
unnatural  distribution  of  its  rewards  been  carried  so  far  as  in  respect  to 
the  labor  of  women.  On  any  fair,  manly,  and  decent  scale  of  estimate, 
the  relative  value  of  services  performed,  the  labor  of  woman,  and  the 
services  she  gives  us  in  every  condition,  every  rank,  and  every  circum- 
stance of  life,  are  at  all  times  and  on  all  occasions  entitled  to  the  highest 
honors  and  rewards  that  society  has  to  bestow.  Not  more  directly  is  the 
embryo  in  the  mother's  womb  indebted  to  the  cares  and  sufferings  of 
woman  for  its  entrance  into  the  world,  than  is  the  whole  life  of  man,  from 
the  cradle  to  the  coffin,  wholly  dependent  upon  the  cares  and  sufferings 
of  these  same  beings.  And  yet  in  every  department  of  labor,  in  every 
situation  of  life,  the  work  of  woman  is  treated  as  a  miserable  joke,  and 
mocked  with  the  merest  tithe  of  a  just  reward.  If  we  look  beyond  the 
tenderer  and  more  indispensable  offices  of  the  mother  or  the  wife,  the 
nurse,  and  the  instructor  of  infancy,  to  those  labors  performed  by  the 
thousands  of  women  in  the  community,  compelled  to  maintain  themselves 
by  the  work  of  their  fingers,  we  shall  find  the  same  principle  prevailing. 
The  man  who  carries  bricks  upon  his  shoulder,  or  assists  in  any  other 
of  the  lowest  occupations  of  life,  receives  four  or  five  times  the  pay 
awarded  to  the  woman  who  fashions  our  garments,  or  keeps  in  order  our 
dwellings,  or  performs  any  of  those  important  and  indispensable  services 
of  which  alone  her  sex  is  capable.  This  is  a  wrong  and  injustice  so 
flagrant  and  so  palpable,  that  it  seems  impossible  to  contemplate  its  per- 
manent existence  without  imputing  to  the  heart  of  man  an  inherent  love 


140  N1W    YORK     NAKED. 

of  oppression,  and  a  corrupt  and  dishonest  selfishness.  By  what  right, 
save  the  barbarian  right  of  brutal  strength,  has  the  community  to  impose 
such  terms  of  recompense  upon  the  labor  of  woman,  that,  deprived  of  the 
assistance  and  protection  of  husband  or  male  protector,  let  her  do  what 
she  will  she  can  but  be  a  pauper  and  a  beggar,  and  has  but  one  means 
left  to  provide  her  with  a  few  years'  exemption  from  the  cruel  law  of  this 
Christian  world — the  sale  of  her  chastity,  and  the*  defilement  of  her 
beautiful  and  immortal  spirit?  It  would  seem  that  no  legislator  could 
look  at  these  facts,  and  reflect  upon  their  bearings  and  consequences  for 
a  single  moment,  without  taking  a  solemn  resolution  to  exert  himself 
instantly  and  perseveringly  for  the  remedy  of  so  great,  so  cruel,  so  out- 
rageous a  wrong ;  and  yet,  year  after  year,  and  cycle  after  cycle,  the 
dread  system  moves  on,  crushing  thousands  of  joyous,  tender,  and  loving 
creatures,  made  to  adorn,  and  perfume,  and  glorify  this  dreary  and 
gloomy  society,  and  confirming  in  the  hearts  of  mankind  that  frightful 
indifference  to  the  rights  of  women,  and  that  gloating  anticipation  of  the 
shames  to  which  they  are  driven,  which,  it  would  seem,  could  belong 
only  to  a  malignant  demon.  There  is  a  frightful  reality,  under  these  cir- 
circumstances,  in  the  suspicion  that  man,  by  the  common  and  devilish 
instinct,  which  he  dares  not  own  to  himself,  keeps  woman  the  debased 
and  helpless  slave  she  is,  that  he  may  the  more  easily  prey  upon  her 
virtue,  and  revel  in  the  debauchery  to  which  starvation  and  absolute 
want  so  continually  impel  her.  Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view,  the 
whole  question  of  prostitution,  and  the  means  of  its  prevention,  assumes 
a  new  and  startling  aspect,  and  one  which  it  is  the  sacred  duty  of  every 
good  man  and  every  good  woman  to  examine  boldly  and  discuss  pro- 
foundly. At  the  bottom  of  all  these  monstrous  evils  some  great  and 
apparent  duty  must,  in  the  agitations  of  the  present  epoch  in  the  moral 
world,  soon  become  patent ;  and  unless  the  race  of  mankind  is  inherently 
and  irrevocably  bad,  and  unless  the  Devil,  and  not  God,  bears  sway 
throughout  this  universe,  socjety  will,  ere  long,  begin  to  put  itself  in  an 
attitude  to  see  that  its  duty  is  faithfully  and  honorably  fulfills  1. 

As  to  the  immediate  redress  for  the  most  pressing  evils  under  which 
the  laboring  and  producing  classes  are  suffering,  all  measures  looking  in 
that  direction  must,  as  a  first  and  primary  necessity,  be  extremely  gradual 
in  their  operation ;  for  although  the  class  of  those  who  think  and  reason 
only  from  what  they  wish,  and  seek  to  transport  the  world  from  wrong 
to  right,  from  misery  to  happiness,  by  a  single  effort  of  their  imagina- 
tions, is  slowly  on  the  increase,  especially  in  this  country,  yet  thpy  arc 
still  far  too  insignificant  a  portion  of  the  mass  and  momentum  of  public 
opinion  to  have  a  right  to  expect  wide  and  important  revolutions  to  be 


TRADE    ASSOCIATIONS.  141 

effected  in  the  well-settled  evils  and  abuses  of  living  and  practical  inter- 
ests, save  by  small  and  low  progress.  Without  expending  too  much 
time  and  care,  therefore,  in  the  discussion  of  broad  principles  or  collateral 
issues,  that  which  the  real  well  wishers  of  society  have  to  do  at  the 
present  moment  is  to  advocate  a  moderate  and  amicable  expression  of 
interests  between  the  producers  and  the  capitalists ;  to  endeavor  to 
establish  a  spirit  of  union  and  combination  among  the  members  of  each 
trade  or  craft,  which,  without  being  oppressive,  insolent  or  over-exacting 
toward  honorable  employers,  shall  at  the  same  time  form  an  efficient 
protection  against  the  encroachments  and  the  frauds,  the  tyranny  and 
the  oppressions  of  dishonest  and  heartless  speculators.  Progress,  even 
in  this  small  way,  must  unavoidably  be  slow,  and  this  is  owing  quite 
as  much  to  the  narrowness,  the  jealousy  and  the  selfishness  of  the  work- 
ing ranks  themselves,  as  to  the  injustice  and  indifference  of  employers. 
Indeed,  I  am  not  certain  that  the  reform  does  not  work  fastest  among 
employers  and  capitalists  themselves ;  for  at  the  rate  things  are  going  on 
they  must  see  that  a  few  years  must  inevitably  deteriorate  the  working- 
interests  so  as  to  drag  the  whole  world  of  industry  on  this  side  of  the 
water  down  to  the  same  level  it  occupies  in  Europe. 

Among  the  wrorkmen  themselves,  however,  there  has  been,  during  the 
last  fewT  years,  a  marked  and  encouraging  improvement  in  their  tone  of 
thought  and  mode  of  action.  In  several  trades  efficient  movements  have 
already  been  commenced,  and  are  in  some  cases  in  practical  operation, 
by  which  the  journeymen  have  associated  themselves  and  their  little 
capital  together  and  established  a  shop  through  which  they  put  them- 
selves in  direct  connection  with  the  consumers.  This  is,  after  all,  the 
only  certain,  the  only  advisable  method  by  which  the  working  men  can 
safely  improve  their  condition,  and  still  retain  the  advantages  they  at 
present  possess.  This  is  a  movement  which  cannot  justly  call  out 
opposition  nor  hostility  from  any  quarter ;  and  all  that  is  required  is 
industry,  moderation,  temperance  and  promptness  in  their  dealings  with 
the  public,  to  enable  associations  of  this  nature  in  any  branch  of  mecha- 
nical business  whatever  to  successfully  compete  with  the  very  best 
establishments  conducted  by  capitalists  in  the  old  way.  By  an  intelli- 
gent perseverance  in  this  course  eventually  to  drive  these  establishments 
completely  from  the  market.  If  the  fundamental  qualities  which  every- 
where create  success,  industry,  temperance,  intelligence  and  economy, 
could  at  one  moment  descend  into  the  heart  of  every  journeyman  in 
New  York,  that  would  be  the  moment  of  the  regeneration  of  the  whole 
class.  "Workshops  and  stores,  supplied  and  conducted  by  the  journey- 
men themselves,  could  afford  to  turn  out  better  work  and  at  cheaper 


142  NSW    YORK    NAKED. 

prices  than  any  monopoly  establishments  whatever,  conducted  by 
capitalists  and  managed  on  the  slop-shop  or  sweating  system.  This  is  a 
truth  the  importance  of  which  is  not  sufficiently  considered  by  the  work- 
ing classes  themselves.  It  is  but  another  illustration  of  the  eternal  law 
of  success  and  happiness  which  God  has  established  throughout  his  entire 
universe.  It  is  upon  the  inherent  character  and  the  intrinsic  deeds  of 
the  being  himself  that  his  destiny  immediately  and  always  depends  ; 
and  the  very  moment  that  the  intelligence  of  the  working  classes  has 
been  raised  to  that  point  that  they  can  see  this  simple,  plain,  practical 
question  in  its  full  importance  and  all  its  bearings,  they  may  begin  at 
once  to  create  their  own  destinies  and  escape  peaceably  and  without  the 
power  of  any  man  to  obstruct  or  oppose  them,  from  all  the  disabilities, 
from  all  the  injustice,  from  all  the  suffering,  all  the  misery  which  have 
heretofore  been  inflicted  upon  them.  Study  it  well,  examine  it  in  every 
light,  consider  all  its  collateral  branches,  its  ramifications  through  the 
great  interests  of  society,  and  you  can  come  but  to  this  one  conclusion — 
that  the  moment  the  working  classes  have  the  resolution,  the  stability 
and  the  character  to  put  themselves  in  direct  connection  with  those  who 
consume  and  pay  for  the  products  of  their  toil,  that  moment  they  are 
in  fact  and  deed  regenerated  and  disenthralled.  After  that,  if  they  go 
astray  or  sink  again  beneath  the  temptations  of  capital  or  the  illusions 
of  idleness  and  intemperance,  upon  their  own  heads  and  the  heads  of 
their  posterity  for  ever,  will  be  the  curse  of  so  unnatural  a  crime  ! 

"We  have  now  to  cast  a  hasty  but  instructive  glance  upon  a  branch  of 
our  subject  not  less  interesting  than  any  we  have  yet  considered.  We 
mean  the  amusements  of  the  laboring  classes.  It  is  in  this  respect  that 
the  widest  difference  is  recognized  between  the  laborers,  both  male  and 
female,  of  this  country  and  Europe.  There,  theatricals,  concerts  and 
other  reputable  and  decent  public  amusements,  are  almost  inaccessible 
to  the  great  body  of  the  working  classes.  The  prices  of  admission  to 
places  of  public  entertainment,  although  not  apparently  very  greatly 
higher  than  with  us,  are  yet,  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of  money  among 
the  lower  classes,  and  the  immense  disparities  of  the  wages  of  labor, 
sufficient  to  place  these  resorts  beyond  the  reach  of  all  save  the  few  for- 
tunate ones  who  live  upon  their  incomes.  Day  and  week  labor  in  Lon- 
don can  rarely  furnish  the  opportunity  to  the  laborer  to  visit,  either 
alone  or  with  his  family,  a  place  of  public  amusement.  Perhaps  once  or 
twice  a  year,  by  way  of  a  great  holiday,  he  may  manage  to  visit  some 
wretched  minor  theatre  or  peep-show ;  but  as  a  general  thiug  they  are 
wholly  deprived  of  the  refining  influence  of  decent  public  amusements, 
and  for  all  their  recreations,  all  their  pastimes,  all  their  solace  from 


THE    BOWERY   THEATRE.  143 

hunger,  pain,  despair  and  gloomy  discontent,  there  exists  but  one  terrible 
resort — the  gin  shop.  The  consequence  of  this  is  a  physical  and  mental 
deterioration  too  frightful  to  contemplate,  and- which,  as  we  may  too  well 
see  from  the  wretched  and  rickety  specimens  of  humanity  daily  being 
vomited  upon  our  shores,  leads  the  populations  of  Europe  rapidly  toward 
a  cretinism,  involving  the  destruction  and  decay  of  entire  races. 

Here,  however,  the  case  is  entirely  different.  So  numerous,  and  for 
the  most  part,  well  conducted  are  our  places  of  public  amusement,  our 
concert-rooms,  our  dancing-saloons,  and  general  miscellaneous  resorts, 
that  however  poor  may  be  the  condition  of  an  American  family,  or  how- 
ever inadequate  the  reward  its  members  receive  for  their  labor,  they 
manage  to  be  regular  visitants  two  or  three  times  every  week  to  some 
place  of  public  amusement,  where  they  can  innocently  forget  their  cares 
and  troubles,  and  gaily  laugh  over  the  mirthful  productions  of  the  comic 
muse  in  some  one  or  other  of  her  grotesque  maskings.  A  careful  obser- 
vation and  study  of  the  different  places  of  amusement  of  this  kind,  would, 
be  of  itself  an  interesting  and  instructive  volume  ;  for  here  at  various 
times  you  might  catch  types  well  defined- and  perfectly  developed,  of 
every  class  of  men,  women  and  children  in  the  vast  lower  stratum  of  our 
population.  But  we  can  here  only  glance  for  a  moment  at  these  estab- 
lishments, and  indicate  by  a  few  hasty  touches  the  leading  characteris- 
tics of  each. 

The  largest  and  most  permanently  popular  place  of  public  amusement 
in  the  city  has  been,  time  out  of  mind,  the  Bowery  Theatre;  and 
although  we  are  accustomed  to  connect  with  the  name  of  this  establish- 
ment,  peanuts,  red  woollen-shirts,  tobacco  chewing,  and  rowdyism,  with 
its  trowsers  tucked  into  its  boots,  yet,  in  point  of  fact,  the  Bowery  stage 
would  compare  favorably  as  to  the  strength  and  talent  of  its  performers 
with  any  other  theatrical  establishment  in  the  country.  It  is  true  that 
the  actors  and  actresses  there  are  apt  to  acquire  a  style  a  little  broader 
and  stronger  marked  than  might  be  acceptable  to  the  laws  of  a  fastidious 
criticism  ;  but  they  are  never  dull,  never  wanting  in  a  certain  strength 
and  naturalness  of  execution  and  conception  very  grateful  to  the  habitue 
of  the  popular  humdrumities  of  more  fashionable  concerns.  The  Bowery 
is  now  the  only  theatre  in  the  city  about  which  cluster  any  portion  of 
those  hereditary  glories  and  associations  that  rendered  it  dearer  to  the 
amateur  and  lover  of  the  drama.  Here,  Malibran  made  first  a  name  and 
reputation,  which  afterwards  overspread  and  enthralled  the  whole  world 
with  its  power  and  magnificence.  Here,  Kean,  and  Cook,  and  Hamblin, 
and  Forrest,  won  their  laurels.  Here  Scott  and  Adams  narrowly  escaped 
becoming  the  greatest  among  their  rivals ;  and  here  the  popular  heart 


144  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

has  often  thrilled  and  palpitated  beneath  the  magnetic  and  electric  con- 
ceptions of  Mrs.  Shaw,  the  Siddons  of  the  stage,  without  compeer  or 
competitor.  As  to  melo-drama  and  spectacle,  they  have  been  carried  to 
a  point  at  this  theatre  never  approached  by  any  other  establishment  in 
America ;  and  even  now,  if  we  would  enjoy  a  real  old-fashioned  evening 
at  the  theatre,  there  is  no  house  to  which  we  would  sooner  wend  our 
way  than  the  old  Bowery. 

But  the  audience — ah  !  there's  a  picture !  I  think  I  see  them  now, 
as  they  loomed  upon  my  delighted  vision  last  Christmas  evening.  The 
house  was  crammed  like  a  sausage  in  gallery  and  lobby,  in  pit  and 
punch-room,  there  was  not  room  to  poke  your  nose,  or  even  had  you  suc- 
ceeded in  inserting  it,  the  perfume  there  was  not  as  agreeable  as  that 
you  would  not  have  willingly  withdrawn  it  again,  especially,  dear  reader, 
if  you  should  happen  to  be  afflicted  with  a  nose  at  all  sensitive.  For 
our  part  we  always  feel  on  these  occasions  in  the  same  happy  humor  as 
the  fox  at  the  lion's  levee — we  have  a  cold,  and  cannot  smell.  The  pit 
is  on  fire  with  ,red  flannel,  and  the  incessant  and  enormous  consumption 
of  peanuts  is  no  bad  imitation  of  the  crackling  of  the  flames.  The 
strong  points  of  the  actor  are  brought  out  and  applauded  like  the  happy 
hits  in  a  political  speech.  Every  time  our  friend  Scott  strides  across  the 
stage,  and  strikes  one  of  those  terrific  attitudes,  such  as  Praxiteles  nor  the 
sculptor  of  the  Laocoon  never  conceived  in  his  wildest  fancies,  a  shout  of 
approbation  rises  from  the  joyous  pit.  "  Hi,  hi !  Go  it  my  Scott !" 
"  That's  the  ticket !"  "  Ain't  he  some !"  accompanied  by  yellings, 
whistlings,  hootings  of  indescribable  and  inconceivable  descriptions, 
resound  on  all  sides — 

M  And  galleries  answer  from  their  tipsy  crowd, 
Back  to  the  joyous  pit,  that  calls  to  them  aloud." 

Struggling  our  way  through  the  lobby,  we  overhear  the  following  dia- 
logue, which  is  characteristic  enough  to  give  a  truthful  idea  of  the  tone 
and  atmosphere  of  the  entire  house  in  front  of  the  foot-lights  :  "  Helloa 
Bill,  your  eyes,  how  are  you  ?"  says  one  of  the  b'hoys  to  his  friend,  whom 
he  encounters  in  the  crowd,  at  the  same  time  raising  his  herculean  hand 
above  the  other's  head,  and  crushing  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and 
ears.  The  other  sputters,  and  chokes,  and  .struggles,  and  at  last  gets  his 
head  out  of  his  hat ;  and,  hitting  his  friend  a  tunk  in  the  ribs  without 

being  at  all  discomposed  or  out  of   humor,  says,  "pretty   well, 

you  !  how  are  you  ?  Is  Lize  along  V  "  Yes.  Your  gal  here  ?"  says 
thu  other.  "  Yes,  in  coorse,  she  afc't  nothin  shorter,"  replies  the  first. 
."  Well,  then  spose  we  go  and  saloon  our  women !" 


LIFE    SCHOOLS    OF   MORALITY.  145 

The  dress  circle  is  occupied  by  the  more  quiet  and  respectable  families 
and  children  of  the  east  end  of  the  city,  and  with  the  exception  of  the 
flaming  conspicuousness  of  the  dress  and  accoutrements  of  the  ladies,  the 
prevalence  of  children  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  and  the  circulation  of  lemon- 
ade, candy  and  oranges,  and  other  refreshments,  around  the  circle  between 
the  acts,  you  would  not  know  but  you  were  in  ever  so  fashionable  an 
establishment.  The  upper  tiers  and  galleries  are  a  bad  and  dreadful 
region.  They  are  filled  with  rowdies,  fancy  men,  working  girls  of  doubt- 
ful reputation,  and,  last  of  all,  the  lower  species  of  public  prostitutes, 
accompanied  by  their  "  lovyers,"  or  such  victims  as  they  have  been  able 
to  pick  up.  The  central  point  of  this  stratum  is  the  punch-room,  where 
a  continual  flood  of  poisoned  brandy,  rum  and  whisky,  is  poured  down 
the  reeking  throats  of  these  desperate  wretches ;  until  steam  being  up  to 
the  proper  point,  they  take  their  departure  one  by  one,  to  the  haunts  of 
crime,  debauchery  and  robbery,  whence  they  issued  at  nightfall  like 
broods  of  dark  ill-omened  birds.  This  is  a  picture  that  can  never  be 
adequately  described,  and  the  consideration  of  which  in  all  its  revolting 
realities  must  work  a  thorough  and  effectual  cure  to  every  tendency  to 
licentiousness  and  drunkeness  in  every  susceptible  and  decent  nature. 
Had  we  a  son  whose  firmness  of  moral  character  we  feared  or  doubted, 
we  should  want  nothing  better  to  confirm  him  in  habits  of  decency,  clean- 
liness and  temperance,  than  a  few  visits  to  these  indescribably  disgusting 
haunts  of  human  wretchedness. 

What  we  have  said  of  the  Bowery,  will  do,  with  very  slight  modifica- 
tions, for  the  National  Theatre,  which  is  conducted  on  a  smaller  scale 
but  with  great  industry  and  tact.  Its  frequenters  are  very  nearly  the 
same  class  with  those  at  the  Bowery,  with  the  exception  that  the 
inmates  of  the  dress  circle  are  a  majority  of  them  Jews  and  Jewesses. 
You  may  see  here  a  greater  display  of  the  peculiar  lineaments  of  Jewish 
female  beauty  than  at  any  other  place  in  the  city. 

Between  the  Bowery  and  the  National  is  an  establishment  now  known 
as  the  Franklin  Museum,  to  which  we  are  sorry  to  say  hundreds  of  people 
in  that  quarter  of  the  city,  and  indeed  a  few  obscene  old  lechers  from 
other  portions  and  ranks  of  society,  are  nightly  visitants.  It  is  here  that 
these  disgusting  exhibitions  known  as  "  model  artists  "  may  be  seen  in  all 
their  uncovered  pruriency,  and  shocking  indecency.  It  is  incredible 
'that  anything  short  of  goats  and  satyrs  should  find  such  obscene  exhibi- 
tions of  bandy-legged,  flabby-breasted  and  lank  deformity  enticing ;  yet 
it  is  certainly  true  that  hundreds  of  men  who  wear  decent  clothes,  and 
have  all  the  external  appearance  of  respectability,  go  nightly  to  gloat 


146  NEW   YORK    NAKED. 

over  these  disgusting  exhibitions.     For  such,  we  should  imagine,  there 
was  no  hope. 

Another  favorite  and  very  crowded  resort  of  the  better  portion  of  the 
middle' ranks  is  Burton's  Theatre,  where  the  performances  are  usually 
of  a  high  grade,  and  are  so  diversified  and  interspersed  with  popular 
novelties  as  never  to  pall  upon  the  restless  taste  of  the  visitors,  but 
always  to  present  something  piquant,  fresh  and  exciting.  Burton's  is 
also  a  great  resort  for  strangers,  and  a  favorite  among  the  critics. 

Another  establishment,  very  similar  in  character,  is  Brougham's 
Lyceum,  although  from  its  location,  and  the  peculiar  character  of  its 
company  and  performances,  it  includes  in  its  visitors  a  somewhat  more 
elevated  order  of  the  population.  "We  often  see  in  the  dress  circle  and 
private  boxes  of  this  neat  and  handsome  theatre,  our  most  fashionable 
ladies ;  while  the  orchestra  stalls  are  nightly  occupied  by  the  upper  crust 
fast  men,  who  pay  a  dollar  a  piece,  and  think  it  cheap,  for  the  privilege 
of  a  nearer  look  at  Mrs.  Brougham's  magnificent  bust,  Mary  Taylor's 
handsome  legs,  and  Miss  Gould's  saucy  eyes. 

Niblo's  and  the  Broadway  are  filled  with  a  more  indiscriminate  com- 
pany. The  great  support  of  the  former  are  the  families  of  up  town 
residents ;  and  during  the  recent  engagements  of  the  Rousset  girls  we 
noticed  that  their  well  disciplined  performances  and  the  truly  exquisite 
dancing  of  Caroline,  drew  constantly  fashionable  and  brilliant  audiences, 
equalling,  in^he  character  and  the  position  of  the  members,  the  most 
favorite  and  aristocratic  audiences  at  the  Opera.  The  Broadway  is  the 
great  resort  for  foreigners,  critics  and  legitimate  theatre  goers,  who  can- 
not exist  without  at  least  a  nightly  looking  in  upon  the  performances  at 
the  leading  theatre.  Generally  these  performances  are  of  a  character  to 
justify  this  devotion  to  them,  although  occasionally  it  happens  that  the 
nefarious  starring  system  to  which  all  our  large  theatres  are  unhappily 
subjected,  bores  the  public  with  a  series  of  performances  expensive  to  the 
manager  and  unsatisfactory  to  the  audience,  while  he  might  make  money 
and  delight  his  visitors  by  the  well  considered  representations  of  his 
excellent  stock. 

But  the  grand  point  of  attraction  for  our  respectable  middle  class,  is 
the  inimitable  and  inevitable  Christy's  Minstrels.  It  is  here  that  the 
mere  desire  for  fun  and  enjoyment  without  the  trouble  of  being  critical 
or  refined,  which  is  the  very  striking  characteristic  of  nine-tenths  of  all 
our  population,  finds  full  scope ;  and  in  the  comicalities  of  these  really 
thorough  artists  in  their  line,  they  find  complete  occupation  for  their 
love  of  amusement.  We  know  of  no  place  in  the  city  where  we  would 
sooner  go  for  an  amusing  and  suggestive  lesson  in  human  nature  than  to 
Christy's  MinsM-els. 


A   TARGET    EXCURSION.  14? 

Then  in  winter  we  have  our  innumerable  balls  of  every  grade,  charac- 
ter and  style.  The  devotion  of  the  New  York  public  to  dancing"  is 
proverbial,  and  extends  through  all  classes,  who  pursue  it  with  equal 
pleasure  and  pertinacity.  From  the  gorgeous  saloons  in  the  Fifth 
Avenue  to  Mager's  in  Elizabeth  street,  every  body  dances.  Probably 
there  are  not  less  than  half  a  dozen  public  balls  every  night  during  the 
winter  dancing  season ;  and  in  summer,  our  innumerable  steamboat 
excursions,  flotilla  balls  and  fourth  of  July  and  other  stampedes, 
supply  an  almost  equal  round  of  saltatory  festivities.  These  amusements, 
however,  have  been  thoroughly  described  in  detail,  from  first  to  last,  in 
"New  York  by  Gas-Light ;"  and,  as  it  is  one  of  the  principal  objects  of 
authors  now-a-days  to  make  their  last  work  contribute  to  the  sale  of  its 
illustrious  predecessors,  I  have  to  recommend  to  my  readers  who  may 
wish  to  know  more  about  the  dancing  business  in  New  York,  to  peruse 
that  graphic  and  popular  work,  the  propriety  and  correctness  of  which 
are  sufficiently  established  by  the  abuse  it  has  received  in  the  New  York 
Tribune  and  other  highly  moral  sheets. 

The  out-door  amusements  of  our  middle  class  is  a  subject  worthy  of 
our  attention,  and  form  one  of  our  national  characteristics.  Foremost 
among  them  are  the  turn-outs  of  the  firemen  and  the  b'hoys  in  uniform — 
that  is,  if  red  shirts  and  muskets  constitute  that  desirable  state — to 
campment  or  target  excursions,  and  otherwise.  One  of  the  big  sights  of 
New  York,  and  one  that  must  strongly  impress  an  observant  stranger,  is 
a  military  fire  company  out  on  parade,  or  on  its  way  to  a  target  excur- 
sion at  the  Red  House  or  some  other  favorite  vicinity.  The  erect  and 
stalwart  men  marching  with  a  gait  more  solid  and  substantial  than 
elegant  or  military,  preceded  by  a  loud  screaming  band  of  military 
music,  and  the  rear  brought  up  by  the  fattest  and  shiningest  of  negroes, 
holding  the  target  upright  in  his  arms,  and  grinning  with  the  ,  delight 
and  notoriety  of  his  position.  Behind  them  come  a  motley  and  tumult- 
uous stream  of  loafers  and  ragged  urchins,  with  straws  and  feathers 
stuck  in  their  hats,  and  clubs  carried  at  their  shoulders  in  imitation  of 
their  full  grown  prototypes.  These  amateur  military  parades  are  perfect- 
ly  at  home  in  Broadway,  and  pursue  their  winding  way  amid  the  omni- 
buses and  drays  in  entire  good  nature  and  equanimity,  carefully  leaping 
the  mud  holes  and  ruts  to  save  their  pantaloons,  if  it  is  fair  weather. 
But  if  it  happens  to  be  a  rainy  spell,  and  such  happens  are  by  no  means 
rare  in  New  York,  then  the  broad  bottomed  trowsers  are  rolled  up  from 
the  boots,  and  they  go  it  straight  through  from  the  mark,  mud  and  mud 
puddles  being  no  obstacles.  The  character  of  the  entertainment,  the 
toasts,  the  sentiments,  the  good  shots  both  with  musket  and  tongue,  the 
oorks  and  charges  that  are  drawn,  the  casks  and  noses  that  are  tapped, 


148  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

the  amiable  knock-downs  and  drag-outs,  the  rough  bear's  play  of  these 
primitive  muscular  and  good-natured  children  of  a  larger  growth,  would 
figure  handsomely  here,  had  we  some  faithful  phonographer  to  bring  us 
a  due  report ;  nor  do  we  doubt  that  they  would  be  quite  as  instructive 
as  the  gas  and  gammon,  the  blarney  and  twaddle,  which,  column  after 
column,  like  slime  in  the  wake  of  a  tortoise,  embellish  the  columns  of 
our  daily  papers  after  some  great  man  has  made  his  passage  through  the 
city.  Indeed,  in  these  target  excursions  a  degree  of  general  good  feeling 
and  sincere  enjoyment  prevails  which  would  put  to  shame  the  formal 
and  conventional  gatherings  of  so  called  statesmen,  patriots  and  politi- 
cians. 

Sunday,  however,  is  the  great  day  for  the  b'hoy.  Then,  whatever  he 
may  be  subjected  to  during  the  week ;  whether  he  may  have  had  money 
during  the  six  days  to  buy  rum  and  tobacco ;  whether  his  gal  has  given 
him  the  mitten,  or  whether  he  has  had  the  "  delicious  triangles,"  or  been 
expiating  a  spree  in  the  Tombs — Sunday  he  must  have  his  turn-out.  In 
the  warm  srjring  and  summer  seasons  it  is  to  Hoboken,  to  Harlem,  to 
Staten  Island  or  Coney  Island  that  he  steers  with  his  red  cheeked  and 
red  ribbon  gal,  blooming  like  a  garden  of  poppies,  sunflowers  and  daffy- 
down-dillies,  hanging  lovingly  upon  his  arm,  and  his  own  brilliant  soap- 
locks  fresh  plastered  and  burnished  for  the  occasion.  At  these  times  the 
b'hoy  is  truly  an  interesting  animal,  perfectly  docile  except  when 
irritated ;  but  you  had  better  be  careful  not  to  tread  upon  his  corns  and 
not  to  encroach  in  any  possible  manner  upon  his  comfort  or  his  dignity. 
Incidents  that  he  might  during  week  days  be  disposed  to  pass  over  with 
a  grunt  and  a  growl,  now  that  Lize  is  by  his  side  would  be  instantan- 
eously resented  upon  the  spot.  And  this  spirit  of  ambition  and  pride  in 
the  presence  of  the  other  sex,  which  characterizes  all  creation,  from  the 
knighterrant  of  the  tournament  doing  his  devoir  in  the  presence  of  his 
lady  love,  to  the  poltroon  barnyard  chicken  fighting  for  the  favor  of  his 
sultana,  sometimes  leads  to  the  most  tragical  consequences.  Not 
[infrequently  are  these  Sunday  excursions  embellished  with  "musses"  of 
a  serious  character  ;  and  the  green  aa-ass  and  golden  flowers  of  Hoboken 
and  Staten  Tsland  have  often  been  dyed  by  the  blood  of  rival  chieftains 
ainonir  these  half  savage  tribes  of  the  Manhattanese. 

•'  »:•  the  Av-nue"  is  another  favorite  resort  of  "Mose"  and  "Sykesy." 
The  b'hoy  has  a  natural  affection  for  the  hoi-'.  He  looks  up  to  him,  with 
an  intuitive  instinct,  as  the  superior  animal,  and  lavishes  upon  him  an 
amount  of  all  and  a  <]<  crree  of  tenderness  that  it  would  be  extreme- 

ly  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  any  of  his  human  relatives  or  associates 
to  elicit  from  him.     The  horse,  however,  that  Mose  condescends  to  love 


UNSATISFACTORY   CONCLUSION'S.  149 

must  bo  "one  of  'em," — must  not  be  afraid  to  go,  nor  to  let  out  all  it 
knows  at  the  shortest  notice,  and  on  the  slightest  provocation.  A  fast 
horse  and  a  "high"  gal  are  the  two  great  earthly  beatitudes  of  the  New 
York  b'hoy ;  and  we  verily  believe  that  if  he  ever  entertains  any  definite 
idea  of  God,  he  pictures  him  as  something  with  a  gallus  bonnet,  and  that 
can  go  it  inside  of  two  minutes. 

The  great  arena  for  the  display  of  this  species  of  public  recreation,  is 
the  Third  Avenue —  a  broad,  straight,  beautiful  road,  studded  with  grog 
shops  on  either  side,  and  everything  handy  and  convenient  for  taking 
the  greatest  possible  advantage  of  rowdy  Sundays,  and  keeping  the  sub- 
urbs and  avenues  of  the  city  in  such  a  condition  that  Christian  men  and 
women  are  disposed  to  keep  shy  of  them.  It  is  rather  an  exhilarating 
sight,  however,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  watch  the  extempore  trots  and 
sporadic  races  that  come  off  on  the  Avenue  almost  any  afternoon,  but 
especially  on  Sunday.  Here,  too,  in  his  dainty  little  buggy,  resorts  the 
upper-class  fast  man  and  sportsman — sometimes  with  his  mistress,  but 
more  frequently  with  his  friends,  and  cutting  what  is  technically  known 
as  the  "tallest  kind  of  a  swell."  A  great  deal  of  human  nature  and 
horse  flesh  is  put  to  a  very  bad  use  daily  on  the  Third  Avenue  ;  and  of 
all  the  unprofitable  ways  of  spending  a  Sunday  that  could  be  thought  of, 
we  believe  that  the  b'hoy  and  the  g'hal  of  New  York  have  hit  upon 
decidedly  the  most  unprofitable. 

The  philosophical  conclusions  we  are  forced  to  draw  from  the  contem- 
plation of  the  amusements  of  the  lower  and  middle  classes  of  our  popu- 
lation are  by  no  means  satisfactory  nor  encouraging.  When  we  consider 
a  mass  of  four  hundred  thousand  individuals  depending  entirely  for  their 
means  of  recreation  and  mental  refinement,  for  their  knowledge  and  taste 
for  the  Beautiful,  in  all  its  infinite  diversity  of  enchanting  forms,  upon 
such  amusements  as  these,  we  cannot  wonder  at  the  coarseness  and 
brutality  of  that  public  sentiment  which  is  thus  permitted  to  grow  up 
utterly  destitute  of  every  opportunity  for  developing  and  exercising  its 
higher  qualities  and  capacities.  Not  a  picture-gallery,  not  a  concert- 
room,  not  so  much  as  even  a  brass  band  of  music  upon  the  public 
squares  ;  no  free  lectures  and  exhibitions  upon  science  and  the  wonders 
of  the  natural  world — no  great  public  institutions  where  books  and 
attractive  entertainments  are  furnished  gratuitously  to  the  public — exist 
throughout  all  our  colossal,  citv.  The  communitv  takes  it  for  granted 
that  it  has  done  its  duty  when  it  lights  the  lamps,  gathers  up  the  mud 
in  little  heaps,  and  sets  policemen  to  watch  the  doors  of  our  store-houses 
and  dwellings.  It  does  not  recognize  the  fact  that  the  poor  people,  who 
cannot  pay  for  refinement  and  luxury,  have  anv  minds,  any  souls,  or  any 


150  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

morals  or  intellectual  needs,  which  it  may  be  its  duty  to  supply.  Were 
half  the  money  that  is  now  expended  in  policing  the  community  and 
punishing  vagrancy,  vagabondism,  and  vice,  devoted  to  the  establishing 
of  public  galleries,  public  libraries  and  reading-rooms,  public  dramatic 
and  musical  entertainments,  public  lectures,  and  the  more  attractive 
branches  of  education  generally,  five  years  would  not  elapse  before  half 
of  our  criminal  expenditure  would  be  no  longer  needed — if,  indeed,  a 
moiety  of  the  remaining  portion  did  not  become  useless.  Not  dungeons, 
nor  gibbets,  not  the  cruel  scourge  of  penitentiary  labor  and  infamy,  nor 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  punishment  for  crime  that  ever  the  ingenuity  of 
mankind  has  conceived,  possesses  one  tithe  of  the  power  to  restrain  the 
exaggerated  impulses,  to  harmonize  the  perverted  and  discordant  pas- 
sions of  the  poor,  as  the  influence — silent,  yet  ceaseless,  piercing  as  sun- 
shine in  still  waters — of  the  material  Beautiful  freely  presented  to  the 
admiration  of  men.  There  is  a  power  in  physical  beauty,  and  especially 
in  the  lofty  creations  and  expressions  of  the  fine  arts,  that  goes  with  elec- 
tric certainty  to  the  centre  and  pivot  of  the  soul  of  every  human  being, 
awaking  and  inflaming  a  loftier  ambition  and  a  purer  aspiration,  which 
looks  with  loathing  and  abhorrence  upon  all  that  is  base,  and  selfish, 
and  grovelling,  and  lifts  the  whole  being  into  the  light  of  a  broader  and 
more  noble  existence.  It  is  society  that  is  the  criminal,  when,  while  it 
employs  all  its  power,  and  exhausts  all  its  resources  in  defending  and 
securing  the  rich  and  the  educated,  it  withholds  from  its  ignorant  and 
erratic  children  all  means  of  understanding  their  own  natures,  developing 
their  spiritual  wrants,  or  appreciating  their  legitimate  destinies.  Even  the 
monarchies  and  despotisms  of  the  Old  World  have  somewhat  understood 
of  this  great  and  imperative  lesson  ;  and  there  is  not  a  capital  of  Europe 
which  is  not  embellished  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  with  its  public  gal- 
leries, libraries,  and  monuments,  dedicated  to  the  service  of  the  whole 
community;  while  in  this  free  and  enlightened  land,  the  home  and  arena 
of  a  new  epoch,  a  new  dispensation,  not  a  solitary  ray  of  the  Beautiful 
beams  for  the  eye  and  heart  of  the  poor  man.  And  yet  our  divines,  our 
moralists,  our  teachers,  exhaust  themselves  in  wonder  at  the  depravity 
and  immoral  tendencies  of  the  age,  and  go  nigh,  in  holy  horror  of  the 
'degraded  classes,  to  despair  of  human  nature  itself.  How  long  shall  this 
double  blindness  curse  the  world  ? 

We  have  now  gone  over  the  field  of  life  occupied  by  the  great  middle 
and  lower  class  of  our  population — indicating,  describing,  characterizing, 
and  reflecting,  as  we  went  along,  upon  whatever  appeared  to  us  the  most 
important  and  instructive  themes.  We  ought  to  say  in  this  place,  for 
the  sake  of  our  own  reputation  for  sanity,  among  many  who,  we  hope, 


LEWD    WOMEN".  -  151 

will  peruse  these  pages,  that  although  fully,  earnestly,  and  devoutly 
believing  in  the  truth  of  every  opinion,  every  idea,  and  every  movement 
we  have  advocated  for  the  melioration  of  the  working  class  and  the 
purification  of  society,  yet  we  do  not  at  all  believe  in  their  practicability, 
save  by  most  gradual  and  imperceptible  steps.  Those  steps  are  con- 
tinually being  taken,  within  and  all  around  us;  and  the  actual  progress 
that  carries  society  on  its  way  to  a  higher  and  better  state  of  existence 
is  by  no  means  carried  on  through  the  direct  influence  of  those  who  are 
avowedly  reformers,  or  whose  views  are  most  frequently  and  most  loudly 
expressed. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


LEWD     WOMEN. 


After  having  brought  my  last  chapter  to  a  close,  I  have  been  several 
days  hesitating,  reviewing  my  thoughts,  opinions  and  observations,  and 
experiencing  a  sort  of  dread  in  commencing  the  final  chapter  of  this 
book,  which  must  be  devoted  to  that  momentous  yet  revolting  subject, 
Prostitution — its  extent,  its  conditions,  and  its  remedy.  Those  who  have 
gone  thus  far  with  me  in  my  investigations  into  the  actual  condition  of 
society  in  this  metropolis,  will  not  need  that  I  should  repeat  here  my 
religious  and  unalterable  conviction  that  a  vast  majority  of  female  pros- 
titution is  the  direct  result  of  the  inadequate  compensation  for  female 
labor ;  and  in  restating  this  broad  fact,  I  cannot  neglect  the  opportunity 
of  marking  an  almost  incredible  truth — that  society  should  have  delibe- 
rately, and  for  thousands  of  years,  committed  its  greatest  outrage  and  its 
worst  oppression,  upon  its  weakest,  most  endeared,  most  beautiful  and 
most  indispensable  members/  Without  the  physical  and  personal  exis- 
tence of  woman,  society  would  cease ;  and  without  her  moral  and  senti- 
mental influence  it  would  retrograde  to  barbarism  and  brutality.  It 
would  be  natural  to  suppose,  therefore,  that  beings  formed  by  the 
Creator  to  play  so  conspicuous  and  important  a  part  in  the  economy  of 
society,  should  be  cherished  by  that  society  as  its  dearest  treasures  and 
most  priceless  blessings.  Such,  however,  is  by  no  means  the  case, 
neither  in  a  general  view  nor  in  individual  instanoes.  As  a  class,  women 
are  deceived,  outraged,  robbed  and  trampled  upon  ;  while  the  more  favored 
individuals  of  their  sex  at  best  become  the  objects  of  the  whims  and  the 


NEW     YORK     NAKED. 


caprices  of  man's  inconstant  affection,  alternately  exaggerated  to  a  divi- 
nity, or  brutalized  to  a  slave.  Men  have  made  women  in  turn  the  object 
of  their  imaginations  and  their  passions,  never  of  their  esteem  and  sym- 
pathy. Seeing  herself  thus  abandoned,  thus  misunderstood,  and  thus 
systematically  crushed  under  the  contempt  of  the  superior  sex,  it  is  not 
unnatural  that  woman  should  have  discovered  the  secret  of  her  power, 
and  by  exciting  and  flattering  the  appetite  and  vanity  of  her  cruel 
master,  should  have  sought  to  snatch  from  his  yielding  moments  some 
portion  of  that  power,  and  of  those  rights,  of  which  it  is  the  whole  object 
and  tendency  of  society  and  of  law  to  deprive  her.  This  state  of  exis- 
tence has  made  woman  herself  a  perverted  and  vicious  being,  has 
poisoned  the  purest  fountains  of  her  devotion,  her  constancy  and  her 
self-sacrificing  affection,  and  has  made  her  the  heartless,  sometimes  help- 
less, and  sometimes  all-powerful,  victim  and  enemy  of  man. 

The  first  duty  of  a  true  society  would  be  to  secure  woman  from  every 
possibility  of  unnecessary  suffering,  from  all  wrong,  from  all  injustice, 
and  from  all  likeness  of  oppression.  But  this  first  duty  of  society  has 
been  wholly  and  persistently  neglected  and  set  at  naught.  The  conse- 
quence is  that  the  unnatural  and  inverted  relations  existing  between  the 
two  sexes,  instead  of  producing  that  mutual  and  beneficent  influence 
upon  both,  which  is  so  clearly  indicated  by  their  organizations,  and  by 
the  natural  tendency  of  their  instincts,  have  exacerbated  the  bad  quali- 
ties of  man,  and  nourished  into  a  pernicious  growth  the  weaknesses  and 
the  defects  of  woman ;  and  instead  of  forming  together  and  in  a  harmo- 
nious relation  with  each  other,  a  symmetrical  and  beautiful  society,  they 
have,  by  being  rudely  torn  asunder  and  re-presented  to  each  other  in  a 
false  aspect,  made  the  world  a  social  hell. 

We  have  said  that  the  principal  and  direct  cause  of  the  extent  of 
prostitution,  was  the  inadequate  reward  allowed  to  women  for  their 
manual  labor,  and  their  services  in  behalf  of  others.  The  disproportion 
between  the  wages  of  the  two  classes  of  laborers,  male  and  female,  is 
more  enormous  than  would  at  first  sight  be  believed.  The  worst 
rewarded  male  laborer  in  our  city  does  not  receive,  while  engaged  in 
work,  less  than  a  dollar  a  day.  The  best  rewarded  female  labor,  in  the 
most  skillful  and  expert  of  those  occupations  which  employ  a  vast  majo- 
rity of  working  women,  does  not  receive  one-half  that  amount;  and  on 
an  average  the  comparative  wages  received  by  men  and  women  for  the 
performance  of  mechanical  labor,  is  at  least  as  four  to  one  in  favor  of  the 
male. 

Twenty  thousand  women  in  the  city  of  New  York  devote  their  days, 
and  a  portion  of  their  nights,  faithfully  to  the  performance  of  the  severest 


T3B    LAST   RESORT.  153 

and  most  health-exhausting  toil,  at  rates  of  compensation  which,  on  the 
whole,  after  deducting  days  for  sickness,  and  days  when  there  is  no 
work,  and  other  drawbacks  indispensable  to  their  existence,  do  not 
exceed  one  hundred  dollars  a  year  for  each.  Out  of  this  must  be  paid 
their  board,  their  washing — for  remember,  they  have  no  time  to  wash, 
and  scarcely  to  repair  their  own  clothes — their  education,  their  amuse- 
ments, their  physician's  bills,  their  clothes,  in  short  every  personal 
expense  to  which  they  are  liable.  An  extensive  observation  of  the  habits 
and  conditions  of  the  laborers  of  New  York,  extending  over  a  series  of 
years,  would  warrant  us  in  the  belief  that  we  have  placed  this  average 
considerably  too  high,  and  that,  year  by  year,  and  estimating  the  weeks 
in  which  no  work  is  to  be  procured,  seventy-five  dollars  a  year  would  be 
nearer  the  average ;  still,  we  place  it  at  a  hundred,  or  about  two  dollars 
a  week.  Now  then  let  us  consider — at  the  lowest  possible  estimate  of 
board,  clothing,  washing,  and  the  other  indispensables  of  the  meanest 
grade  of  life,  we  are  assailed  by  the  positive  conviction  that,  upon  the 
sum  we  have  named,  these  women  could  not  exist  The  startling  ques- 
tion, then,  forces  itself  upon  us — from  what  resource  do  they  draw  the 
additional  sums  necessary  to  prolong  their  bare  lives  from  year  to  year  f 
Read  Mr.  Mayhew's  "  London  Labor  and  the  London  Poor  ;n  read  my 
essays,  published  six  or  seven  years  ago  in  the  "Tribune,"  under  the  title 
of  "  Labor  in  New  York,  its  Conditions  and  Rewards ;"  and  the  answer 
to  this  question  is  before  us.  It  is  from  prostitution  whence  the  addi- 
tional income  of  these  poor  wretches  is  drawn.  A  vast  majority  of  them 
only  resort  to  this  in  the  last  extremity,  and  when  their  absolute  wants 
of  food,  and  clothing,  and  habitation,  are  miserably  fulfilled,  they  retire 
with  horror  and  self  loathing  to  their  original  condition  of  life,  faithfully 
resisting  every  allurement  of  the  tempting  world  without,  until  again 
driven  forth  into  the  streets  by  the  pangs  of  hunger.  This  is  the  life 
led  by  many  thousands  in  this  city  of  New  York,  of  those  tender  and 
beautiful  beings  who  were  given  to  the  world  by  God  to  bless  and  sanc- 
tify, and  ennoble  its  inhabitants,  to  preserve  in  their  faithful  bosoms  the 
germs  of  that  celestial  love  that  has  passed  out  of  man's  more  radiative 
nature,  and  concentrated  itself  alone  in  the  female  heart.  Many  of  these 
poor  creatures,  as  they  see  from  out  their  wretched  garret-windows,  or 
through  the  chinks  and  crannies  of  their  stifled  and  noisy  workshops,  the 
gilded  and  mirthful  daughters  of  shame  flaunt  by  in  splendid  robes  and 
laughing  Jiumor,  turn  the  despair  that  feeds  upon  their  hearts  into  a  cold 
and  calculating  resolution  to  escape  the  doom  to  which  they  have  been 
consigned,  and  to  prey  upon  their  oppressors  for  their  own  pleasure  and 
short-lived  joy.    Usually  they  are  seduced  and  betrayed  to  the  first  com- 

10 


154  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

mission  of  crime  through  the  promptings  of  a  pure  and  confiding  lo^e,  a 
love  born  in  their  hearts  for  some  man  whom  they  invest  with  all  the 
angelic  attributes  that  their  souls  love  to  worship,  and  who,  when  his 
base  appetite  is  gratified,  invariably  deserts  his  victim  with  the  heartless- 
ness  of  nothing  but  a  man.  Then  revenge,  hatred  and  despair,  t 
possession  of  the  poor  creature's  soul.  Then  for  a  moment  the  light  of 
her  immortal  nature  is  extinguished,  and  in  one  mad  spasm  of  frenzy 
and  insanity,  she  takes  the  fatal  plunge  into  open  vice,  that  never  can 
be  retrieved.  Once  thoroughly  perverted  in  the  very  source  of  her  natu- 
ral and  her  moral  emotions,  woman  becomes  a  demon  in  her  turn,  and 
preys  remorselessly  upon  her  insensate  victims.  The  'very  absence  of 
appetite  itself,  which  is  a  pervading  characteristic  of  a  vast  majority  of 
women,  enables  them  to  play  effectually  upon  the  passions  of  men. 
After  the  first  paroxysm  of  their  rage  and  hatred  subsides,  they  look 
their  new  destiny  in  the  face  with  horror,  and  in  th#agonies  of  remorse, 
fly  to  intemperance  as  the  Lethean  stream  that  will  save  thein  from  its 
dread  visitations.  Thus  prepared  by  every  outrage,  every  excess,  and 
every  stimulant  that  can  develop  the  worst  passions  of  which  the  human 
soul  is  capable,  these  smiling  ogres  are  let  loose  to  prey  remorselessly 
upon  the  society  that  has  made  them  what  they  are.  This,  in  a  few 
brief  phrases,  is  the  picture  of  prostitution  as  it  exists  at  the  present  day 
in  every  civilized  community.  There  are  minor  features  and  minor 
causes  which  require  a  somewhat  detailed  and  delicate  discrimination  in 
their  handling. 

There  are  some  questions  so  painful  and  perplexing  that  statesmen, 
moralists  and  philanthropists  shrink  from  them  by  common  consent;  and 
of  all  these  questions  prostitution  is  the  darkest,  the  knottiest,  and 
saddest.  From  whatever  point  of  view  it  is  regarded,  it  presents  consi- 
derations so  difficult  and  so  grievous  that  neither  ruler  nor  writer  has  yet 
been  found  with  nerve  to  face  the  sadnesses,  or  resolution  to  encounter 
the  difficulties.  Statesmen  see  the  mighty  evil  lying  on  the  main  path- 
way up  the  world,  and,  with  a  groan  of  pity  and  despair,  "  pass  by  on 
the  other  side."  Like  the  timid  patient  who,  fearing  and  feeling  the 
existence  of  a  terrible  disease,  they  dare  not  examine  its  symptoms  nor 
probe  its  depth,  lest  they  should  discover  that  it  was  incurable  and 
mortal;  or,  like  a  more  foolish  animal  still,  they  hide  their  heads  at  the 
mention  of  the  danger,  as  if  they  hoped  by  ignoring  to  annihilate  it.  It 
is  from  a  strong  conviction  that  this  is  not  worthy  behaviour  on  the  part 
of  those  who  aspire  to  guide  either  the  actions  or  the  opinions  of  others, 
that  wo  have  undertaken  to  speak  of  so  dismal  and  delicate  a  matter. 
We  are  aware   that  mischief  is  risked  by  bringing  the  subject  promi- 


FACING   THE    EVIL.  155 

nently  before  the  public  eye,  and  that  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  the 
discussion  should  be  so  clear  and  certain  as  unquestionably  to  overbal- 
ance this  risk.  We  are  aware  that  it  is  a  matter  on  which  it  is  not  easy 
to  speak  hopefully,  not  always  possible  to  speak  with  confidence  as  to 
facts,  cause  or  consequences.  We  are  aware  that  we  expose  ourselves  to 
much  scoffing  from  the  vulgar  and  lightminded,  much  dishonest  misre- 
presentation from  those  who  echo  any  popular  cry,  much  unmerited 
anger  from  those  who  deem  that  refinement  forbids  them  to  speak  of 
things  which  it  does  not  forbid  them  to  do ;  much  serious  blame  on  the 
part  of  those  who  think  that  no  object  can  justify  us  in  compelling  atten- 
tion to  so  revolting  a  moral  sore.  We  have  weighed  all  these  obstacles, 
and  we  have' concluded  that  the  end  we  have  in  view,  and  the  chance 
good  we  may  effect,  and  the  suffering  we  may  mitigate,  warrant  us  in 
disregarding  them.  We  think  that  such  considerations  have  already  too 
long  withheld  serious  and  benevolent  men  from  facing  one  of  the  sorest 
evils  the  sun  now  shines  upon,  or  the  darkness  of  night  covers.  Our 
divines,  our  philanthropists,  our  missionaries,  nay,  even  our  Sisters  of 
Charity,  do  not  shrink  from  entering  in  person  the  most  loathsome 
abodes  of  sin  and  misery — nor  from  penetrating  into  the  lowest  dens  of 
filth  and  pollution,  where  human  despair  ever  dragged  itself  to  die — 
when  led  thither  by  the  impulse  of  compassion  and  the  hope  of  good. 
Why  then  should  we  allow  indolence,  disgust,  or  the  fear  of  misconstruc- 
tion to  deter  us  from  entering  upon  an  inquiry  as  to  the  possibility  of 
mitigating  the  very  worst  form  which  human  wretchedness  and  degrada- 
tion can  assume.  The  best  and  purest  of  our  race  do  not  feel  themselves 
repelled  from,  or  tarnished  by  the  darkest  haunts  of  actual  guilt  and 
horror,  where  pain  is  to  be  assuaged,  or  where  souls  are  to  be  saved. 
Let  us  act  by  subjects  as  they  act  by  scenes. 

Feeling,  then,  that  it  is  a  false  and  mischievous  delicacy,  and  a  culpa- 
ble moral  cowardice,  which  shrinks  from  the  consideration  of  the  great 
social  vice  of  prostitution — because  the  subject  is  a  loathsome  one  : 
feeling,  also,  that  no  good  can  be  hoped  unless  we  are  at  liberty  to  treat 
the  subject,  and  all  its  collaterals,  with  perfect  freedom,  both  of  thought 
and  speech — convinced  that  the  evil  must  be  probed  with  a  courageous 
and  unshrinking  hand  before  a  cure  can  be  suggested,  or  palliatives  can 
safely  be  applied — we  have  deliberately  resolved  to  call  the  public  atten- 
tion to  it,  though  we  do  so  with  pain,  reluctance,  and  diffidence. 

And  first — to  preclude  misrepresentation  as  far  as  this  is  possible — we 
must  show  our  colors  by  expressing  our  own  feelings  as  to  fornication. 
Our  morality  will  be  considered  by  the  divine  as  strangely  lax  and  incon- 
sistent, and  by  the  man  of  the  world,  the  ordinary  thinker,  and  the  mass 


156  NEW    YORK     NAKED. 

who  follow  current  ideas,  without  thinking  at  all — as  savage  and  absurd  ; 
nevertheless,  we  conceive  it  to  harmonize  with  the  ethics  of  nature  and 
the  dictates  of  unsophisticated  sense.  We  look  on  fornication,  then  (by 
which  we  always  mean  promiscuous  intercourse  with,  women  who  prosti- 
tute themselves  for  pay),  as  the  worst  and  lowest  form  of  sexual  irregula- 
rity, the  most  revolting  to  the  unpolluted  feelings,  the  most  indicative  of 
a  low  nature,  the  most  degrading  and  sapping  to  the  loftier  life — 

"  The  sin  of  all  most  sure  to  blight — 
The  sin  of  all  that  the  soul's  light 
Is  soonest  lost,  extinguished  in." 

Sexual  indulgence,  however  guilty  in  its  circumstances,  however  tragical 
in  its  results,  is,  when  accompanied  by  love,  a  sin  according  to  nature  ; 
fornication  is  a  sin  against  nature  ;  its  peculiarity  and  heinousness  con- 
sist in  its  divorcing  from  all  feeling  of  love  that  which  was  meant  by 
nature  as  the  last  and  intensest  expression  of  passionate  love ;  in  its  put- 
ting asunder  that  which  God  has  joined ;  in  its  reducing  the  deepest 
gratification  of  unreserved  affection  to  a  mere  momentary  and  brutal 
indulgence ;  in  its  making  that  only  one  of  our  appetites,  which  k 
redeemed  from  mere  criminality  by  the  hallowing  influence  of  the  better 
and  tenderer  feelings  with  which  nature  has  connected  it,  as  animal  as  all 
the  rest.  It  is  a  voluntary  exchange  of  the  passionate  love  of  a  spiritual 
and  intellectual  being,  for  the  mere  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  beast.  It  is 
a  profanation  of  that  which  the  higher  organization  of  man  enables  him 
to  elevate  and  refine — it  is  the  introduction  of  filth  into  the  pure  sanctu- 
ary of  the  affections. 

We  have  said  that  fornication  reduces  the  most  fervent  expression  of 
deep  and  devoted  human  love  to  a  mere  animal  gratification.  But  rt 
does  more  than  this :  it  not  only  brings  man  down  to  a  level  with  the 
brutes,  but  it  has  one  feature  which  places  him  far,  far  below  them. 
Sexual  connection  with  them,  is  the  simple  indulgence  of  a  natural  desire 
mutually  felt ;  in  the  case  of  human  prostitution,  it  is  in  many,  probably 
in  most  instances,  a  brutal  desire  on  one  side  only,  and  a  reluctant  and 
loathing  submission,  purchased  by  money,  on  the  other.  Among  cattle, 
the  sexes  meet  by  common  instinct  and  a  common  wish — it  is  reserved 
for  the  human  animal  to  treat  the  female  as  a  mere  victim  for  his  lust, 
The  peculiar  guilt  of  prostitution,  then,  consists,  in  our  view  of  the  matter, 
in  its  being  unnatural;  a  violation  of  our  true  instincts — not  a  mere 
frailty  in  yielding  to  them.  On  this  matter,  therefore,  we  feel  at  least  as 
strongly  as  any  divine  can  do. 

In  the  second  place,  we  feel  called  upon  to  protest  against  the  manner 


THE    LOWEST   DEPTH    OF    MISERY.  15  T 

in  which  prostitutes  are  universally  regarded,  spoken  of,  and  treated  in 
this  country,  as  dishonoring  alike  to  our  religion  and  our  manhood.  The 
iniquity  pervades  all  classes,  and  both  sexes.  No  language  is  too  savage 
for  these  wretched  women.  They  are  outcasts,  Pariahs,  lepers.  Their 
touch  even  in  the  extremitiy  of  suffering,  is  shaken  off,  as  if  it  were' pol- 
lution and  disease.  It  is  discreditable  to  a  woman,  even  to  be  supposed 
to  know  of  their  existence.  They  are  kicked,  cuffed,  trampled  on  with 
impunity  by  every  one.  Their  oaths  are  seldom  regarded  in  a  court  of 
justice,  scarcely  ever  in  a  police  court.  They  seem  to  be  considered  far 
more  out  of  the  pale  of  humanity  than  the  negroes  on  a  slave  plantation, 
or  fellahs  in  a  pasha's  dungeon. 

If    the    extremity    of    human    wretchedness — if   a    condition   which 
combines  within  itself  every  element  of  suffering,  mental  and  physical, 
circumstantial  and  intrinsic — is  a  passport  to  our  compassion,  every  heart 
should  >bleed  for  the  position  of  the  prostitute,  as  it  never  bled  at  any 
form  of  woe  before.     We  wish  it  were  in  our  power  to  give  a  picture, 
simple,  faithful,  uncolored,  but  "  too  severely  true,"  of  horrors  which  con- 
stitute the  daily  life  of  women  of  the  town.     The  world — the  unknowing 
world — is  apt  to  fancy  her  revelling  in  the  enjoyment  of  licentious  plea- 
sure ;  lost  and  dead  to  all  sense  of  remorse  and  shame ;  wallowing  in 
mire  because  she  loves  it.     Alas !  there  is  no  truth  in  this  conception,  or 
only  in  the  most  exceptional  cases.     Passing  over  all  the  agonies  of  grief 
and  terror  she  must  have  endured  before  she  reached  her  present  degra- 
dation ;  the  vain  struggle  to  retrieve  the  first  false,  fatal  step ;  the  feeling 
of  her  inevitable  future  pressing  her  down  with  all  the  hopeless  weight  of 
destiny ;  the  dreams  of  a  happy  past  that  haunt  her  in  the  night-watches, 
and  keep  her  even  trembling  on  the  verge  of  madness ; — passing  over  all 
this,  what  is  her  position  when  she  has  reached  the  last  step  of  her 
downwarl    progress,   and   has   become   a   common   prostitute?     Every 
calamity  that  can  afflict  human  nature,  seems  to  have  gathered  round 
her — cold,  hunger,  disease,  often  absolute  starvation.     Insufficiently  fed, 
insufficiently  clad,  she  is  driven  out  alike  by  necessity,  and  by  the  dread 
of  solitude,  to  wander  through  the  streets  by  night,  for  the  chance  of 
earning  a  meal  by  the  most  loathsome  labor  that  imagination  can  picture,  % 
or  a  penal  justice  could  inflict.     For,  be  it  remembered,  desire  has,  by 
this  time,  long  ceased ;  the  mere  momentary  excitement  of  sexual  indul- 
gence is  no  longer  attainable;    repetition    has  changed  pleasure   into 
absolute  repugnance ;   and  those  miserable  women  ply  their  wretched 
trade  with  a  loathing  and  abhorrence,  which  only  perpetual  semi-intoxi- 
cation  can    deaden   or  endure.     The   curses,  the   blows,  the   nameless 
brutalities  they  have  to  submit  to  from  their  ruffianly  associates  of  the 


158  NEW    YORK    NAKED. 

brothel  and  saloon,  are  as  nothing  to  the  hideous  punishment  inherent 
in  the  daily  practice  of  their  sin.  Their  evidence,  and  the  evidence  of 
all  who  have  come  in  contact  with  them,  is  unanimous  on  this  point — 
that  rum  alone  enables  them  to  live  and  act;  that  without  its  constant 
stimulus  and  stupefaction,  they  would  have  long  since  died  from  mere 
physical  exhaustion,  or  gone  mad  from  mental  horrors.  The  reaction 
from  the  nightly  excitement  is  too  terrible  to  be  borne,  and  rum  is  again 
resorted  to  as  a  morning  draught.  Even  this  wretched  stimulus  often 
fails ;  and  there  can  be  few  of  our  readers  who  have  not  seen  some  ot 
these  unhappy  creatures,  after  a  winter's  night  spent  in  walking  to  and 
fro  for  hours,  amid  snow,  frost,  or  piercing  winds,  in  dress  to  flimsy 
even  for  the  hottest  season,  sink  down  on  a  door  step  fainting  and  worn 
out,  too  feeble  to  be  able,  and  too  miserable  to  desire  to  rise.  All  this 
time  too,  disease  of  many  kinds  is  busy  with  is  victim ;  and  positive  pain 
is  added  to  severe  privation  and  distracting  thought.  Do  not  let  it  be 
supposed  that  they  are  insensible  to  the  horrors  of  their  situation  ;  we 
believe  this  is  rarely  the  case  altogether ;  where  it  is  so,  they  owe  it  to 
the  spirits  in  which  they  invariably  indulge. 

The  career  of  these  women  is  a  brief  one;  their  downward  path  a 
marked  and  inevitable  one  ;  and  they  know  this  well.  They  are  almost 
never  rescued  ;  escape  themselves  they  cannot.  Vestigia  nulla  retrorsum. 
The  swindler  may  repent,  the  drunkard  may  reform  ;  society  aids  and 
encourages  them  in  their  thorny  path  of  repentance  and  atonement,  and 
welcomes  back  with  joy  and  generous  forgetfulness  the  lost  sheep  and 
prodigal  son.  But  the  prostitute  may  not  pause — may  not  recover :  at 
the  very  first  halting  timid  step  she  may  take  to  the  right  or  to 
the  left,  with  a  view  to  flight  from  her  appalling  doom,  the  whole  resist- 
less influence  of  the  surrounding  world,  the  good  as  well  as  the  bad,  close 
around  her  to  hunt  her  back  into  perdition. 

Then  comes  the  last  sad  scene  of  all,  when  drink,  disease,  and  starva- 
tion have  laid  her  on  her  death-bed.  On  a  wretched  pallet  in  a  filthy 
garret,  with  no  companions  but  the  ruffians,  drunkards,  and  harlots  with 
whom  she  had  cast  her  lot;  amid  brutal  curses,  ribald  language,  and 
drunken  laughter ;  with  a  past,  which,  even  were  there  no  future,  would 
be  dreadful  to  contemplate,  laying  its  weight  of  despair  upon  her  soul ; 
with  a  prospective  beyond  the  grave  which  the  little  she  retains  of  her 
early  religion  lights  up  for  her  with  the  lurid  light  of  hell — this  poor 
daughter  of  humanity  terminates  a  life,  of  which,  if  the  ain  has  been 
grievous,  the  expiation  has  been  fearfully  tremendous. 

We  have  seen  that,  even  in  their  lowest  degradation,  these  poor 
creatures  never  wholly  lose  the  sense  of  shame  or  sensitiveness  to  the 


A    MISTAKEN    IDEA.  159 

©pinions  of  the  world.  It  is  pleasing  also  to  find  that  anotaer  of  the 
chief  virtues  which  belong  to  the  female  character,  seems  never-  to 
become  extinct  within  them,  or  even  to  be  materially  impaired.  Their 
kindness  to  all  who  are  in  suffering  or  distress,  has  attracted  the  atten- 
tion and  called  forth  the  admiration  of  all  who  have  been  thrown  much 
into  contact  with  them.  "  The  English  Opium  Eater  "  bears  eloquent 
testimony  to  the  unquenchable  tenderness  of  their  nature,  and  the  ready- 
generosity  with  which  they  lavish  aid  to  the  needy  out  of  their  scanty 
and  precarious  means.  Duchatelet  states  that  their  affection  for  children, 
whether  their  own  or  not,  is  carried  to  a  point  surpassing  that  common 
to  women,  and  that,  in  consequence,  they  make  the  most  careful  and 
valuable  of  nurses. 

But  if  sympathy  be  due  to  these  unhappy  women  on  the  mere  ground 
of  the  suffering  they  undergo,  it  will  perhaps  be  even  more  readily 
rendered  when  we  examine  a  little  into  the  antecedents  which  have  led 
them  to  their  fate.  There  is,  we  think,  a  very  general  misapprehension, 
especially  among  the  fair  sex,  as  to  the  original  causes  which  reduce  this 
unfortunate  class  of  girls  to  their  state  of  degradation — the  primary 
circumstances  of  their  fall  from  chastity.  On  this  matter,  those  who 
know  the  most  will  assuredly  judge  the  most  leniently.  Those  who 
think  of  this  class  of  sinners  as  severely  as  closest  moralists,  and  volup- 
tuaries with  filthy  fancies  and  soiled  souls,  and — alas !  as  most  women 
are  apt  to  do — fancy  the  original  occasion  of  their  lapse  from  virtue  to 
have  been  either  lust,  immodest  and  unruly  desires,  silly  vanity,  or  the 
deliberate  exchange  of  innocence  for  luxury  and  show.  We  believe  they 
are  quite  mistaken,  it  is  the  first  never,  or  so  rarely,  that  in  treating  of 
the  subject  we  may  be  entitled  to  ignore  the  exceptions  ;  it  is  the  latter 
only  in  a  small  portion  of  the  cases  that  occur.  It  is  very  important  to 
a  true  view  and  a  sound  feeling  on  these  matters,  to  set  this  error  right. 
Women's  desires  scarcely  ever  lead  to  their  fall ;  for  (save  in  a  class  of 
whom  we  shall  speak  presently)  the  desire  scarcely  ever  exists  in  a 
definite  and  conscious  form,  till  they  have  fallen.  In  this  point  there  ia 
a  radical  and  essential  difference  between  the  sexes :  the  arrangements  of 
nature  and  the  customs  of  society  would  be  even  more  unequal  than 
they  are,  was  it  not  so.  In  men  in  general,  the  sexual  desire  is  inherent 
and  spontaneous,  and  belongs  to  the  condition  of  puberty.  In  the  other 
sex,  the  desire  is  dormant,  if  not  non-existant,  till  excited;  always  till 
excited  by  undue  familiarities,  almost  always  till  excited  by  actual  inter- 
course. Those  feelings  which  coarse  and  licentious  minds  are  so  ready 
to  attribute  to  girls,  are  almost  invariably  consequences.  Women,  whose 
position  and  education  have  protected  them  from  exciting  causes,  con- 


160  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

stantly  pass  through  life  without  ever  being  cognizant  of  the  promptings 
of  the  senses.  Happy  for  them  that  it  is  so !  we  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  uneasiness  may  not  be  felt — that  health  may  not  sometimes  suffer; 
but  there  is  no  consciousness  of  the  cause.  Among  all  the  middle  and 
higher  classes,  and  to  a  greater  extent  than  would  be  commonly  believed, 
among  the  lower  classes  also,  where  they  either  come  of  virtuous  parents 
or  have  been  carefully  brought  up,  this  may  be  affirmed  as  a  general 
fact.  Were  it  not  for  this  kind  decision  of  nature,  which  has  been 
assisted  by  that  correctness  of  feeling  which  pervades  our  education,  the 
consequences  would  we  believe,  be  frightful.  If  the  passions  of  women 
were  ready,  strong  and  spontaneous,  in  a  degree  even  remotely  approach- 
ing the  form  they  assume  in  the  coarser  sex,  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  sexual  irregularities  would  reach  a  height,  of  which,  at  present,  we 
have  happily  no  conception.  Imagine  for  a  moment,  the  sufferings  and 
struggles  the  virtuous  among  them  would,  on  that  supposition,  have  to 
undergo,  in  a  country  where,  to  hundreds  of  thousands,  marriage  is  impos- 
sible, and  to  hundreds  of  thousands  more,  is  postponed  till  the  period  of 
youth  is  passed  ;  and  where  modesty,  decency  and  honor,  alike  preclude 
them  from  that  indulgence  which  men  practice  without  restraint  or 
shame.  No!  Nature  has  laid  many  heavy  burdens  on  the  delicate 
shoulders  of  the  weaker  sex :  let  us  rejoice  that  this  at  lea3t  is  spared 
them. 

The  causes  which  lead  to  the  fall  of  women  are  various ;  but  all  of 
them  are  of  a  nature  to  move  grief  and  compassion,  rather  than  indig- 
nation and  contempt,  in  all  minds  cognizant  of  the  strange  composition  of 
humanity — the  follies  of  the  wise,  the  weakness  of  the  strong,  the  lapses 
of  the  good ;  cognizant,  also,  of  those  surprising  and  deplorable  incon- 
sistencies, by  which  faults  may  sometimes  be  found  to  have  grown  out 
of  virtues,  and  very  many  of  our  heaviest  offences  to  have  been  grafted 
by  human  imperfection  upon  the  best  and  kindest  of  our  affections. 

The  first  and  perhaps  the  largest  class  of  prostitutes  are  those  who 
may  fairly  be  said  to  have  no  choice  in  the  matter — who  were  born  and 
bred  in  sin ;  whose  parents  were  thieves  and  prostitutes  before  them ; 
whose  dwelling  has  always  been  in  an  atmosphere  of  squalid  misery  and 
sordid  guilt ;  who  have  never  had  a  glimpse  or  a  hearing  of  a  better  life; 
whom  fate  has  marked  from  their  cradle  for  a  course  of  degradation  ;  for 
whom  there  is  no  fall,  for  they  stood  already  on  tho  lowest  level  of 
existence ;  in  whom  there  is  no  crime,  for  they  had  and  could  have 
neither  an  aspiration,  a  struggle,  nor  a  choice.  Such  abound  in  London, 
New  York- and  other  large  cities;  and,  though  to  a  less  extent,  in  almost 
all  large  towns.     Their  families  form  the  classes  dangereum  of  French 


THE    PRIMAL    CAUSES.  161 

statisticians ;  and  it  is  from  these  that  is  recruited  the  population  of  the 
jails,  the  lowest  brothels,  the  penitentiaries  and  the  alms-house.  How 
this  class  is  to  be  checked,  controlled,  diminished,  and,  finally  extirpated, 
presents  one  of  the  most  difficult  practical  problems  for  statesmen,  and 
one,  to  the  solution  of  which  they  must  address  themselves  without 
delay ;  but  it  is  one  with  which  at  present  we  have  not  to  do.  All  that 
we  wish  to  urge  is,  that  the  prostitutes  who  spring  from  this  class  are 
clearly  the  victims  of  circumstances,  and  therefore  must,  on  all  hands,  be 
allowed  to  be  objects  of  the  most  unalloyed  compassion. 

Others  unquestionably,  and  alas !  too  many,  fall,  from  the  snares  of 
vanity.  They  are  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  those  above  them  in 
station,  and  gratified  by  a  language  more  refined  and  courteous  than 
they  hear  from  those  of  their  own  sphere.  They  enjoy  the  present 
pleasure,  think  they  can  secure  themselves  against  being  led  on  too  far, 
and,  like  foolish  moths,  flutter  around  the  flame  which  is  to  dazzle  and 
consume  them.  For  these  we  have  no  justification  and  little  apology  to 
offer.  Silly  parents,  and  a  defective  or  injudicious  education  form  their 
most  frequent  excuse.  Still,  even  these  are  not  worthy  of  the  treatment 
they  meet  with,  even  from  those  of  their  own  sex,  who  cannot  be  uncon- 
scious of  the  same  foibles — still  less  from  men.  Let  those  who  are  with- 
out sin  araonor  us  cast  the  first  stone  at  them. 

Some,  too,  there  are,  for  whom  no  plea  can  be  offered — who  volun- 
tarily and  deliberately  sell  themselves  to  shame,  and  barter,  in  a  cold 
spirit  of  bargain,  chastity  and  reputation,  for  carriages,  jewels,  and  a 
luxurious  table.  All  that  can  here  be  urged  is  the  simple  fact — too 
notorious  to  be  denied,  too  disgraceful  for  the  announcement  of  it  to  be 
listened  to  with  patience — that,  in  this  respect,  the  unfortunate  women 
who  ultimately  come  upon  the  town,  are  far  from  being  the  chief  or 
most  numerous  delinquents.  For  one  woman  who  thus,  of  deliberate 
choice,  sells  herself  to  a  lover,  ten  sell  themselves  to  a  husband.  Let  not 
the  world  cry  shame  upon  us  for  the  juxtaposition.  The  barter  is  as 
naked  and  as  bold  in  the  one  case,  as  in  the  other ;  the  thing  bartered  is 
the  same ;  the  difference  between  the  two  transactions,  lies  in  the  prioe 
that  is  paid  down. 

Many — and  these  are  commonly  the  most  innocent,  and  the  most 
wronged  of  all — are  deceived  by  unreal  marriages ;  and  in  these  cases, 
their  culpability  consists  in  the  folly  which  confided  in  their  lover,  to  the 
extent  of  concealing  their  intention  from  their  friends — in  all  case3  a 
weak,  and  in  most  cases  a  blameable  concealment;  but  surely  not  one 
worthy  of  the  fearful  punishment  which  in  nearly  every  instance  over- 
takes it     Many — far  more  than  would  generally  be  believed — fell  from 


162  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

pure  unknowingness.  Their  affections  are  engaged,  their  confidence 
secured ;  thinking  no  evil  themselves,  they  permit  caresses,  which  in 
themselves,  and  to  them,  indicate  no  wrong,  and  are  led  on  ignorantly 
and  thoughtless1^  from  one  familiarity  to  another,  not  conscious  where 
those  familiarities  must  inevitably  end,  till  ultimate  resistance  becomes 
almost  impossible,  and  they  learn,  when  it  is  too  late — what  women  can 
never  learn  too  early,  or  impress  too  strongly  on  their  minds — that  a 
lover's  encroachments,  to  be  repelled  successfully,  must  be  repelled  and 
negatived  at  the  very  outset. 

We  believe  we  shall  be  borne  out  by  the  observation  of  all  who  have 
inquired  much  into  the  antecedents  of  this  unfortunate  class  of  womun-r 
those  at  least,  who  have  not  sprung  from  the  very  low,  or  actually  vicious 
sections  of  the  community — in  stating  that  a  vast  proportion  of  those 
who,  after  passing  through  the  career  of  kept  mistresses,  ultimately  come 
upon  the  town,  fall  in  the  first  instance,  from  a  mere  exaggeration  and 
perversion  of  one  of  the  best  qualities  of  a  woman's  heart.  They  yield 
to  desires  in  which  they  do  not  share,  from  a  weak  generosity  which 
cannot  refuse  anything  to  the  passionate  entreaties  of  the  man  they  love. 
There  is  in  the  warm,  fond,  heart  of  woman,  a  strange  and  sublime 
unselfishness,  which  men  too  commonly  discover  only  to  profit  by — a 
positive  love  of  self-sacrifice — an  active,  so  to  speak,  an  aggressive  desire 
to  show  their  affection,  by  giving  up  to  those  who  have  won  it,  something 
they  hold  very  dear.  It  is  an  unreasoning  and  dangerous  yearning  of 
the  spirit,  precisely  analogous  to  that  which  prompts  the  surrenders  and 
self-tortures  of  the  religious  devotee.  Both  seek  to  prove  their  devotioa 
to  the  idol  they  have  enshrined,  by  casting  down  before  his  altar  their 
richest  and  most  cherished  treasures.  This  is  no  romantic,  or  overcolored 
picture ;  those  who  deem  it  so,  have  not  known  the  better  portion  of  the 
sex,  or  do  not  deserve  to  have  known  them.  We  refer  confidently  to 
all  whose  memory  unhappily  may  furnish  an  answer  to  the  question, 
whether  an  appeal  to  this  perverted  generosity  is  not  almost  always  the 
final  resistless  argument  to  which  female  virtue  succumbs.  When  we 
consider  these  things,  and  remember  also,  as  we  must  now  proceed  to 
show,  how  many  thousands  trace  their  ruin  to  actual  want — the  want  of 
those  dependent  on  them — we  believe,  upon  our  honor,  that  nine  out  of 
ten  originally  modest  women,  who  fall  from  virtue,  fall  from  motives  or 
feelings  in  which  sensuality  and  self  have  no  share;  nay,  under  circum- 
stances in  which  selfishness,  had  they  not  been  of  too  generous  a  nature 
to  listen  to  its  dictates,  would  have  saved  them. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  that  hard  necessity — that  grinding  poverty 
approaching  to  actual  want — which,  by  unanimous  testimony,  is  declared 


TEE  LAST  DREADFUL  RESORT.  163 

to  be  the  most  prolific  source  of  prostitution  in  this  and  in  all  other  coun- 
tries. In  Paris,  the  elaborate  researches  of  Duchatelet  have  established 
this  point  in  the  clearest  manner.  After  speaking  of  the  prosiitutes  sup- 
plied from  those  families  w  ho  live  in  vice  and  hopeless  abandonment,  he 
proceeds  thus: — 

"  Of  all  causes  of  prostitution  in  Paris,  and  probably  in  all  great 
towns,  there  are  none  more  influential  than  the  want  of  work,  and  indi- 
gence resulting  from  insufficient  earnings.  What  are  the  earnings  of 
our  laundresses,  our  sempstresses,  our  milliners  ?  Compare  the  wages 
of  the  most  skillful  with  those  of  the  more  ordinary  and  moderately  able, 
and  we  shall  see  if  it  be  possible  for  these  latter  to  procure  even  the 
strict  necessaries  of  life ;  and  if  we  further  compare  the  price  of  their 
work  with  that  of  their  dishonor,  we  shall  cease  to  be  surprised  that  so 
great  a  number  should  fall  into  irregularities,  thus  made  almost  inevi- 
table. This  state  of  things  has  naturally  a  tendency  to  increase,  in  the 
actual  state  of  our  society,  in  consequence  of  the  usurpation  by  men  of  a 
large  class  of  oecupations,  which  it  would  be  fitter  and  more  honorable 
in  our  sex  to  resign  to  the  other.  Is  it  not  shameful,  for  example,  to  see 
in  Paris  thousands  of  men  in  the  prime  of  their  age,  in  cafes,  shops  and 
warehouses,  leading  the  sedentary  and  effeminate  life  which  is  only  suit- 
able for  women." 

M.  Duchatelet  adds  some  other  facts  which  fully  confirm  the  testi- 
mony we  shall  have  to  bring  respecting  an  unfortunate  class  in  our 
country,  viz.  that  filial  and  maternal  affection  drive  many  to  at  least 
occasional  prostitution,  as  a  means,  and  the  only  means  left  to  them,  of 
earning  bread  for  those  dependent  on  them  for  support. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  trade  of  prostitution  should  have  been 
embraced  by  certain  women  as  a  means  of  fulfilling  their  maternal  or 
filial  duties — nothing,  however,  is  more  true.  It  is  by  no  means  rare  to 
see  married  women,  widowed,  or  deserted  by  their  husbands,  and  in  con- 
sequence deprived  of  all  support,  become  prostitutes  with  the  sole  object 
of  saving  their  family  from  dying  of  hunger.  It  is  still  more  common  to 
find  young  girls,  unable  to  procure  from  their  honest  occupations  an  ade- 
quate provision  for  their  aged  and  infirm  parents,  reduced  to  prostitute 
themselves  in  order  to  eke  out  their  livelihood.  I  have  found  too  many 
particulars  regarding  these  two  classes,  not  to  be  convinced  that  they 
are  much  more  numerous  than  is  generally  imagined." 

M.  Duchatelet  sums  up  the  results  of  investigations  into  the  cases  of 
5,183  Parisian  prostitutes  as  follows: — 


164  NEW     YORK     NAKED. 

Driven  to  the  profession  by  parental  abandonment,  excessive 

want,  and  actual  destitution 2,696 

To  earn  food  for  the  support  of  their  parents  or  children     .        .  89 

Driven  by  shame  to  fly  from  their  homes 289 

Abandoned  by  their  seducers,  and  having  nothing  to  turn  to       .  2,118 

Total 5,183 

We  shall  not  take  much  pains  in  proving  that  poverty  is  the  chief 
determining  cause  which  drives  women  into  prostitution  in  England  and 
America,  as  in  France ;  partly  because  we  have  no  adequate  statistics, 
and  we  are  not  disposed  to  present  our  readers  with  mere  fallacious  esti- 
mates, but  mainly  because  no  one  doubts  the  proposition.  Granting  all 
that  is  or  can  be  said  of  the  idleness,  extravagance,  and  love  of  dress,  of 
these  poor  women,  the  number  of  those  who  would  adopt  such  a  life, 
were  any  other  means  of  obtaining  an  adequate  maintenance  open  to 
them,  will  be  allowed  on  all  hands  to  be  small  indeed. 

Now,  we  surely  cannot  be  wrong,  in  assuming  that  we  have  said 
enough  to  induce  those  who  have  hitherto  thought  of  prostitutes  only 
with  disgust  and  contempt,  to  exchange  these  sentiments  for  the  more 
just  and  more  Christian  feelings  of  grief,  compassion,  and  desire  to  soothe 
and  to  save.  The  sin  that  arises  from  generous,  though  weak  self  aban- 
donment ;  the  sin  that  is  induced  by  the  intolerable  anguish  of  a  child's 
starvation,  must  be  regarded,  both  in  Heaven  and  on  earth,  with  a  very 
different  degree  and  kind  of  condemnation  from  that  which  is  called 
forth  by  frailty  arising  out  of  the  cravings  of  vanity,  or  the  unbridled 
indulgence  of  animal  desire.  Enough  has  surely  been  said,  to  induce  us 
to  regard  these  unfortunate  creatures  rather  as  erring  and  suffering  fellow 
creatures,  than  as  the  outcasts  and  Pariahs  they  are  now  considered. 
But  one  more  most  weighty  consideration  remains  before  we  quit  this 
part  of  our  subject. 

We  have  seen  that  the  great  majority  of  these  poor  women  fall,  in  the 
first  instance,  from  causes  in  which  vice  and  selfishness  hare  no  share. 
For  that  almost  irresistible  series  of  sequences,  by  which  one  lapse  from 
chastity  conducts  ultimately  to  prostitution,  we — the  world — must  bear 
the  largest  share  of  the  blame.  What  makes  it  impossible  for  them  to 
retrace  their  steps  ? — almost  impossible  even  to  pause  in  their  career  of 
ruin.  Clearly,  that  harsh,  savage,  unjust,  unchristian  public  opinion 
which  has  resolved  to  regard  a  whole  life  of  indulgence  on  the  part  of 
one  sex  as  venial  and  natural,  and  a  single  falso  step,  on  the  part  of  the 
other,  as  irretrievable  and  unpardonable.  How  few  women  are  there  who, 
after  the  first  error,  do  not  awake  to  repentance,  agony,  and  shame,  and 


1 


5T0    PITT    FOR   THE    REPENTANT   MAGDALEN.  165 

would  not  give  all  they  possess  to  be  allowed  to  recover  and  recoil  ? 
They  may  be  in  love  with  their  seducers — never  with  their  sin.  On  the 
contrary,  they  hate  it  the  more  earnestly  from  having  felt  the  weight  of 
its  chains,  and  tasted  the  bitterness  of  its  degradation.  They  yearn  with 
a  passionate  earnestness,  of  which  mere  innocence  can  form  no  concep- 
tion, to  be  permitted  to  recover  their  lost  position  at  the  expense  of  any 
penitence,  however  severe,  after  the  lapse  of  any  time,  however  long. 
But  we  brutally  refuse  to  lend  an  ear  to  their  entreaties.  Forgetting  our 
Master's  precepts- — forgetting  our  human  frailty — forgetting  our  own 
heavy  portion  in  the  common  guilt — we  turn  contemptuously  aside  from 
the  kneeling  and  weeping  Magdalen,  coldly  bid  her  to  despair,  and  leave 
her  alone  with  the  irreparable.  Instead  of  helping  her  up,  we  thrust  her 
down,  when  endeavoring  to  rise ;  we  choose  to  regard  her  not  as  frail? 
but  as  depraved.  Every  door  is  shut  upon  her,  every  avenue  of  escape  is 
closed.  A  sort  of  fate  environs  her.  The  more  shame  she  feels — i.  e. 
the  less  her  virtue  has  suffered  in  reality — the  more  impossible  is  her 
recovery,  because  the  more  does  she  shrink  from  those  who  might  have 
been  able  to  redeem  her.  She  is  driven  into  prostitution  by  the  weight 
of  all  society  pressing  upon  her. 

If  she  is  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life,  what  resource  but  prostitution  is 
open  to  her  f  If  she  be  a  semstress,  what  lady  will  take  her  into  her 
house  to  work.  If  she  be  a  maidservant,  what  mistress  will  either  accept 
or  retain  her  ?  If  she  belong  to  the  classw  immediately  above  those  in 
the  social  scale,  is  the  refuge  of  the  family  hearth  freely  opened  to  the 
repentant  sinner,  if  her  shame  allows  her  to  approach  it  ?  Has  she  most 
reason  to  expect  that  she  will  be  spurned  away  from  it  in  anger,  or 
welcomed  home  with  the  tears  of  joy  that  are  shed  over  the  lost  sheep  ? 
Alas !  is  it  not  notorious,  that  of  a  hundred  fathers  who  would  fall  upon 
the  neck  of  a  prodigal  son,  and  hail  his  return  with  unlimited  forgiveness, 
there  is  scarcely  one  who,  obedient  to  the  savage  morality  of  the  world, 
would  not  turn  his  back  upon  the  erring,  repentant  daughter  ?  When 
shall  we  learn  in  judging  the  moral  delinquencies  of  the  two  sexes,  to 
eschew  those  partial  balances  and  false  weights,  which  are  an  abomina- 
tion to  the  Lord  ? 

One  only  chance  of  restoration  does  society  offer  to  the  poor  victim  of 
seduction ;  and  even  this  chance  does  not  lie  within  her  option.  If  her 
seducer  can  be  induced,  by  bribe,  persuasion  or  threat,  to  marry  her,  her 
fault  is  not  expiated,  but  amended  and  obliterated ;  as  the  phrase  goes, 
she  is  "made  an  honest  woman  again."  What  a  withering  sarcasm  upon 
our  ethical  notions  is  contained  in  that  coarse  expression!     If  tho  poor 


166  NEW    YORK    NAKED.' 

girl  can  induce  or  compel  the  man  who  has  betrayed  her,  to  swear  a  lie 
of  fidelity  to  her,  at  the  altar;  if  she  can  bind  to  her  by  legal  process,  a 
libertine  who,  being  bound  against  his  will,  is  certain  to  hate  and  abuse 
her;  if,  having  committed  the  pitiable  folly  of  yielding  to  an  unworthy 
deceiver,  she  is  -willing  still  to  commit  the  more  monstrous  folly  of  put- 
ting her  whole  future  fate  into  his  hands,- after  his  unworthiness  has  been 
made  manifest — then,  on  that  hard  condition,  and  that  only,  can  her 
character  be  whitewashed.  The  pardon  of  society  is  granted  or  with- 
held, according  as  she  can  or  cannot,  obtain  a  legal  hold  on  her  betrayer. 
For  ourselves,  we  confess  that  in  the  cases  which  have  come  before  us, 
we  have  seldom  felt  disposed  to  counsel  such  views,  or  such  suggestions. 
"We  have  said,  "  Do  not  let  one  false  step  lead  you  on  to  commit  another, 
of  which  the  punishment  may  last  through  life :  we  will  do  all  in  our 
power  to  hide  your  shame,  and  enable  you  to  recover  your  position,  and 
atone  for  your  sin  ;  but  do  not,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  what  you  have 
brought  upon  yourself,  make  yourself  the  slave  of  a  man  who  has  injured 
you,  and  now  wishes  to  desert  you.  Do  not  take  a  step  of  irremediable 
mischief,  for  the  sake  of  escaping  the  world's  reproaches ;  for  the  deed 
itself,  and  its  appearance  to  your  own  conscience,  can  be  changed  by  no 
subsequent  proceedings !"  We  must,  however,  add,  that  we  have  rarely 
found  the  victim  of  seduction  willing  to  listen  to  our  reasoning.  Their 
desire  of  recovering  a  social  position,  and  their  horror  of  the  probable 
alternative,  were  generally  strong  enough  to  induce  them  to  welcome  all 
the  terrors  of  an  unhappy  marriage. 

Yet  this  is  the  sole  condition  on  which  society  will  pardon  the  erring; 
the  only  way  it  offers  them  of  retrieving  that  which,  were  better  and 
kindlier  notions  to  prevail,  might  generally  be  retrievable.  At  its  door 
lie  the  consequences  of  this  harsh  decision. 

For  the  first  fatal  but  pardonable  error  of  woman,  vanity,  weakness, 
unregulated  affection,  the  pressure  of  want,  the  perversion  of  generosity, 
or  the  cruel  deception  of  others,  must  bear  the  blame ;  for  the  subsequent 
and  far  guiltier  step3,  by  which  frailty  gradually  darkens  into  coarse  and 
grievous  sin,  the  hard-hearted,  inequitable  pharisaism  of  society  must  be 
held  responsible.  In  this  matter,  "  we  are  very  guilty  concerning  our 
Bister  ;"  and  women  are  even  guiltier  than  men.  Let  us,  for  a  moment, 
look  at  this  monstrous  barbarity  from  a  natural,  rather  than  a  conven- 
tional view  ;  and  let  those  who  are  shocked  at  the  uncompromising 
plainness  of  our  speech,  look  back  on  their  own  experience,  and  question, 
if  they  can,  the  experience  of  others,  as  to  the  truth  of  our  remarks, 
before  they  venture  to  condemn  us.  We  have  no  wish  to  extenuate  the 
sin,  or  to  palliate  the  weakness ;  but  above  all,  and  before,  let  us  be  just. 


THE   DIFFERENCE — WHAT    IS    IT  ?  16t 

What  is,  among  the  originally  correct-minded  and  well-conducted,  the 
real  difference  between  the  first  sacrifice  at  the  first  shrine  of  love  in  the 
case  of  a  married,  and  an  unmarried  woman  ?  It  is  not  that  one 
feels  that  she  is  acting  virtuously,  and  the  other,  that  she  is  acting 
viciously — the  sense  of  shame  is  the  same  in  both  cases :  we  appeal  to 
all  modestly  brought  up  women  if  it  be  not  so.  Indeed,  can  it  be 
otherwise  ? 

As  a  most  virtuous  and  sensible  lady  once  said  : — "  It  is  not  a  quarter- 
of-an-hour's  ceremony  in  a  church  that  can  make  that  welcome  or 
tolerable  to  pure  and  delicate  feelings,  which  would  otherwise  outrage 
their  whole  previous  notions,  and  their  whole  natural  and  moral  sense." 
Among  the  decorously  educated  (and  it  is  of  such  only  that  we  are 
speaking),  the  first  sacrifice  is  made  and  enacted,  in  both  cases,  in  a 
delirium  of  mingled  love  and  shame.  The  married  woman  feels  shame, 
often  even  remorse,  and  a  strong  confusion  of  all  her  previous  moral  con- 
ceptions ;  but  the  world  laughs  at  her  scruples — tells  her  that  her  feel- 
ings are  all  nonsense,  and  exalts  her  to  the  honors  of  a  matron.  The 
unmarried  woman  experiences  the  same  confusion,  remorse,  and  shame  ; 
and  the  world  reechoes  her  feelings — confirms  the  sentence  she  has 
passed  upon  herself,  and  casts  her  out  upon  a  dunghill.  The  practical 
difference  between  them  being,  that  the  church  ceremony — which  could 
not  change  the  nature  of  the  action  common  to  both,  and  accompanied 
and  prompted  by  the  same  feelings  in  both — Secures  to  the  one  a  perma- 
nent protection,  and  the  sanction  of  the  world  and  the  world's  laws ; 
while  the  other,  imprudent,  deceived,  or  self-sacrificing  creature,  is  left 
destitute  of  either:  and  the  world  steps  in  and  says  to  her,  "You  shall 
not  return  to  peace,  or  virtue,  or  domestic  life — the  paradise  of  comfort 
and  hope  is  closed  to  you  forever  upon  earth."  Let  us  trust  that  Heaven 
is  more  merciful  and  just.  The  married  woman  says  to  her,  "  we  have 
both  submitted  with  reluctance  and  distress  to  the  embraces  of  a  man » 
we  loved ;  but  the  consequences  to  me  are  a  happy  home  and  loving 
children,  who  are  a  glory  and  a  crown  of  honor  to  my  hearthstone  ;  to 
you  the  consequences  are  desertion,  horror,  and  degradation,  and  your 
ohildren  shall  be  a  terror  and  a  curse  to  you.  The  very  same  deed — 
varied  only  in  its  antecedents — which  leaves  me  free  to  kneel  the  next 
morning  at  the  throne  of  grace,  with  an  unstained  conscience  and  an 
assured  hope — makes  you  feel  that  heaven  has  cast  you  off,  and  that  the 
altar,  to  which  you  cling  in  your  agony,  is  polluted  by  your  touch  ;  and 
all  this  because  /had  secured  a  protection  and  a  legal  sanction  before  I 
yielded,  and  you  had  not?1  Let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  We  are  far 
from  meaning  to  affirm  that  the  circumstance  of  obtaining  a  legal  and 


168  NSW   YORK    NAKED. 

religious  license  beforehand,  does  not  constitute  a  wide  and  vital  distinc- 
tion between  the  cases ;  but  where  it  is,  as  it  often  is,  the  only  distinction, 
it  cannot  of  itself  suffice  to  constitute  the  one  a  loathsome  wretch,  while 
the  other  is  a  pure  and  honored  matron.  The  instinctive  feeling  of 
mankind  assures  us  that  there  must  be  something  sadly  wrong  and  out 
of  joint  in  the  premises  that  lead  to  such  a  decision.  Justice  and  mercy 
forbid  us  to  confirm  the  harsh  decree. 

Moreover,  the  mercy,  the  gentleness,  the  kind  consideration  towards 
human  infirmity,  the  tender  treatment  of  guilt,  which  we  deny  to  the 
victim,  we  lavish  on  the  betrayer.  Hers  is  innate  depravity,  hopelest 
degradation,  un  worthiness  which  must  bo  pushed  out  of  sight,  blotted 
from  memory,  ignored  in  good  society  and  polite  speech ;  his  are  the 
venial  errors  of  youth,  the  ordinary  tribute  to  natural  desires,  the  com- 
mon laxity  of  a  man  of  the  world.  Truly,  it  is  time  we  should  come  to 
a  sounder  estimation  and  a  juster  judgment-seat ;  we  owe  a  fairer 
reckoning  both  to  those  whom  we  condemn,  and  to  those  whom  we 
absolve. 


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